A Family Affair
by Penelope Wendy Bing
Summary: After Glimmer dies, her brother is forced to reconsider his life as a Career and decide whether or not he can truly support the Games that brought about the death of his sister. T for domestic violence and language.
1. In Which I Lose a Sister

**A/N**- First, a thank you to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, my beta. She's amazing. Love you to bits, Mel! And I don't own The Hunger Games. Not by a long shot. To establish context, this picks up right as Glimmer is dying from tracker jacker poison. This will be multichapter, but I'm not sure when I'll have the next chapter up.

As my sister dies on screen, screaming and thrashing, I'm faced with a choice. I have to abandon something, and soon. I'm now forced to choose what.

I can choose my sister. I can forget her horrific death at the hands of these Games. I can think of her as just another loser and sink back into the savage joy of watching tributes die. I can ignore or deny the memories of my favorite sibling, my Glims. But I don't have to. There's another choice.

I can choose the Games. I can honor my older sister and hate the instrument of her death. I can forget everything I've been taught for fifteen years. I can totally and utterly change my way of life. Can't I?

I don't want to forget my older sister, but every time I reach out toward her memory, I feel my heart flutter in fear. It's too much! How can I start thinking the Games are evil, just like that? I can't just forget everything I've ever been told is right. It's like I'm hanging off the edge of a cliff. My handhold is crumbling. I can reach out and grab onto something else, but I'm afraid I'll fall. I don't have forever to choose, either. If I keep holding on with just one hand and leaving the other outstretched, I'm going to fall. If I don't cling to one or the other, I won't get to make my decision at all. The Hunger Games will decide for me.

Glimmer's last scream is cut off by an ugly gurgle. My parents and four other siblings watch, open-mouthed in rapture. They love this sort of thing, the really nightmarish deaths. But…I do too, don't I? Yeah. Yeah, I do. But this is _Glimmer_. This feels different.

"Ehmagosh!" Illusion babbles, "This is _amazing_! Glimmer'd _love_ this if she wasn't dying!"

"But she _is_, Illy." Points out Queen, my other sister.

"Still, if you have to go, that's a cool way to go." Chips in Riches, my youngest sibling. He's only nine. Fame has stayed silent through all of this. He's dumber than rocks, so I'm not surprised.

"Look look look look look!" Riches shouts, desperately redirecting our attention toward the T.V. Apparently we really need to see what's going on.

It's her. That Everdeen girl who killed my sister. My family erupts into booing and profanities. I growl under my breath. I hate her. We all do. We are Careers, after all. We love to hate and we love death. But Everdeen killed my sister, and it's personal now.

I tune out the insults flying past my head and watch the television harder than ever before. Everdeen doesn't look to good, I note with relish. She stumbles to my sister's body, a body that _she_ made, and pulls pathetically at Glimmer's bow. My fingernails bite through the skin of my palms and I clench my fists even harder, savoring the pain and the heat of the welling blood. It's the perfect complement to the primal hate that my heart seems to be pumping instead of blood. My family has gone deathly silent, our bodies tense and stretched tightly towards the T.V. I can see the killer shining in all of our eyes, even Richie and Illy who aren't even old enough to participate in the reaping yet. The entire Radican family is going to hate Everdeen for the rest of our lives.

A realization knocks my breath away.

I only see hate on my family's faces. There's no sadness for the death of a daughter and sister, and even my own grief…I forgot it for a moment. I was lost in my Career's aggression. How could I-

Sir crows in excitement. My eyes sweep back to the T.V. as Lover Boy tells his little girlfriend to beat it and Cato lunges forward.

Mellark intercepts Cato with a slash of his spear. Stupid. He's no match for a Career, even one from District 2. It's over soon. The cameras zoom in on Cato's face. Mellark is pinned under his knees, bleeding and panting. He's a goner.

"Was she really worth it, Lover Boy?" He hisses.

"Yes. She's worth anything." Mellark says without hesitation, his voice strained by pain.

Cato chuckles. "You're funny. I think I'll let you bleed out."

He punches Lover Boy in the face one more time and stalks off.

The T.V. cuts to commercial.

We howl in anger. Riches swears loudly, throwing one of his little boy tantrums.

"No fair! Kill him, kill him!" Shrieks Illy. The Hunger Games are gone, replaced by a very pink commercial. I can see the unsatisfied murderer inside my sister; I can feel the same in me. How could that Cato kid stop? He let that stupid Lover Boy go. He's lost his edge, and he's still got the nerve to call himself a Career.

Illusion thrashes in bottled bloodlust. All of the girls have had their nails filed to points, and Illy's flailing arm scratches Fame's face.

"Hey!" He growls, shoving her off the couch.

Illusion's head snaps toward him. She hisses and launches herself at him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. He bellows in pain and falls forward, crushing Illy.

"Illusion!" Ma'am snaps, deciding that Illy was the instigator.

As Illy and Fame fight like dogs on the floor, Richie shouts, "It wasn't her fault!" Figures. He and Illusion are as close as Glimmer and I. Queen of course jumps to Fame's defense. There's no questions about whose loyalty lies where among us kids.

He shoves her, she slaps back (and let me tell you, when Queen slaps you it _hurts_) and before you know it they're in a full-on fistfight as well. They aren't as evenly matched as Fame and Illusion though, with Queen being almost twice Riches' age. Ma'am grumbles and forcibly inserts herself between Fame and Illy.

"Arrowhead! Get Riches and Queen." She snaps ay Sir. He sighs, pulls Queen off of Riches, and shoves her to the floor. Richie lunges at her, and sir grabs him around the back of the neck. Riches makes a choking sound as Sir yanks him backwards and slams him into the wall. Queen scrabbles rabidly, trying to right herself and attack Richie again. Before she's on her feet Sir kicks her hard in the side and she collapses with a yelp. Ma'am has dragged Fame and Illusion into the kitchen and locked them into the closets. I can hear the banging and swearing coming from the adjoining room. Sounds like we may need to replace the closet doors again.

I sit frozen on the couch; I'm observing everything, but my emotions are all busy right now, otherwise occupied by the reappearance of the Hunger Games.

Everdeen screams and thrashes, gripped by hallucinations. The text scrolling across the bottom of the screen is explaining the hallucinogenic effects of those big bees. Apparently it could kill her. How wonderful.

"Go to sleep, Lightning." Ma'am snaps.

Sir grabs the back of my shirt and sends me stumbling toward my, or our, bedroom. Still in a daze I push the door open. Six cots are arranged in the room. Four lining the walls, and two in the center for the oldest, Queen's and Glims'. But I guess tomorrow Queen's bed will be alone. Because Glimmer isn't going to be coming back.


	2. In Which I Pick a Fight

**A/N**- Got this up much faster than I thought I would for one reason and one reason alone: I got a review prompting me to update. Thank you HunterofArtemis1136!

"Your sister got _owned_, Lightning!"

"When you go in, you're going to get your ass kicked too."

"You Radicans fight like you're from the Capitol, or something."

I grit my teeth. The heckling is traditional; I've participated in it plenty of times myself. Most Career families have a ton of kids, so they have more chances of training a winner. Whenever someone dies, you rub it in their siblings' faces. It's just the way it is.

"Shut up, Bracket. At least Glimmer didn't die screaming for mercy like Glade did." Silkiness snaps.

Bracket turns red. Even after two years, his own sister is still a sore spot. I know mine will be for a while. He makes an obscene hand gesture at Silk and stalks off.

"Yep. That was a genius comeback. I will _never_ get over that insult." Silk calls sarcastically. "Need me to beat him up for you?" She asks.

"No thanks. I'll just K.O. him in wrestling today." I answer, doing my best to sound flippant.

"I'm sorry about Glimmer. She was pretty cool. For an older sister." Silk says.

I shrug. "She knew what she was getting into."

"Yeah." Silkiness agrees, and we're silent for a moment.

"Hey," she says, "Now that Glimmer's dead you're going to need a new sparring partner, right?"

Sir and Ma'am wanted to make sure that all of their children got a feel of the fighting style of the opposite sex. In the Training Center, girls take classes together, and guys have separate classes. Anything beyond that is up to the individual. So my parents paired us up, oldest girl to oldest boy, second oldest to second oldest, and youngest to youngest. That's the main reason us kids have grown apart into our little pairs. We never spent time with anyone else. Actually, Glims, Richie, Illy, and I all got along pretty well, but not Fame and Queen. The little kids followed Glimmer and me around a lot, because they didn't know what the hell they were doing. But Queen and Fame separated themselves and trained constantly, trying to show Glims and me up. They had classic middle-childitis.

"Oh. Umm, yeah. I guess so." I say.

"You want to spar together?" Silkiness asks.

"Yeah. 'Course." I answer.

"Alright. See you after class, Lightning." Silk says, and walks away with a smile. Silk's one of my best friends and the only girl I can get on with who's not one of my sisters. The rest of them are idiots. It's not really their fault though; the training is rigged. The girls are taught to be dumb, tough, and most importantly pretty. The trainers are mostly men. Female trainers mostly teach seduction and application of makeup. That was another good reason my parents wanted us to train together. They were hoping we could keep the girls grounded. Glims got sucked into it. She'd always had a luxurious side, even coming from the poorer part of District 1. But Silkiness hasn't been having any of it, and she acts more like a male tribute than a female one most of the time.

Class will be starting in about five minutes, which isn't enough time to get any real training in. I drift to the flat screen televisions embedded in the lounge wall. They show nothing but the Games, twenty-four seven. Usually it's pure recap, but when there's a Hunger Games going on, they're always live.

Nothing too interesting is going on at the moment. Everdeen and the Careers are all laid up with stings, so most of the video is of other kids. That puny District 11 girl who spends all of her time hopping around in trees. Her big and much more interesting District partner. The boring one from 5 who hides out in her little hollow and never picks a fight. Nothing good. I watch anyway until the bell rings to start class.

Careers never pay attention to actual school. Actually, as a rule we all fail. Illy's passing with a C- average, and that's good for a Career. Me? I have no idea. I haven't used my report card for anything other than paper planes in ages. Luckily for us the school system doesn't care if you fail. No matter what kind of grades you get, they shunt you along to the next grade. So for the most part we as a subculture just sit in the back and zone out for the six or seven hours we're at school. Let me tell you, it takes practice to zone out for that long. It's not something you learn how to do overnight.

Here though, everyone pays attention. It _will_ be the difference between life and death, even if you don't get chosen to go into the Games. Chances are, if you're training hard enough to get any good out of it you're neglecting everything else. When you graduate you'll have almost no education, and you'll be lucky to make enough money that you don't starve to death. Even if you don't go into the Hunger Games and win or lose, training is still life changing.

The buzzer rings. Time to go to class. It's a little absurd how much some of the Training Center rooms look like classrooms, complete with desks.

There's a usual school day buzzing to the room, with a few nasty insults about Glimmer being directed toward me, but I'm not paying attention. I'm thinking about the debriefing the girls will be getting. They'll pick apart Glimmer's experience in the Games, criticize every mistake and lost opportunity. They'll mock and dissect her failure, to try to make sure that nobody makes the same mistakes next year. The guys won't be getting this talk, at least not unless Marvel Nictate dies.

The bubbly announcer comes on for the announcements. It's mostly stuff like what areas of the Center will be closed anytime soon, and what special seminars they're hosting. With the whole Star-Crossed Lovers thing District 12 has pulled a huge amount of focus has shifted to Strategy and Angles lessons, which is unusual for here. We've always been taught the best strategy is to kill when presented the opportunity, and it works.

Once the announcements are done we sit and get ready for recitations. Recitation is the most basic part of our day. The only purpose it really serves is to engrave the chief beliefs of the District 1 Career system into the younger kids' heads. Everyone knows them so well by the time they reach my age that they can recite them without even thinking about it. And we do.

"I will kill without remorse.

"I will bring honor to my District.

"No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer.

"No pain is too great for me to overcome.

"The losers are nothing.

"The Capitol is benevolent.

"We are superior."

Recitations are over. Well, morning recitations at least. On a Saturday like today we have morning, noon, and evening recitations. On weekdays it's just afternoon and evening.

Most of the day passes without incident. I feel funny though, like I have an almost-headache. It's not quite pain, but it feels funny. Like a thought is pounding against the back of my skull. I'm distracted in archery and almost kill Daily Beyrton when I don't realize she's gone to the target to retrieve her arrows. I can't decide what's bothering me, at first. Slowly it begins to surface, like a corpse slowly rising through muddy water to float on the surface.

_The…_

_The losers..._

_The losers are…_

_The losers are nothing._

I stop short. I release the arrow in surprise and it goes way off course. Daily looks at me in disgust and stalks away with a flip of her hair. Apparently I'm not good enough to be at the same station as her. How sad.

The losers are nothing. I've heard that almost every day since I was six years old. It is a truth to me, as easily as the fact that dropping a copper shield on your toes hurts. I've never questioned it. Even now my brain fervently agrees. If you lose, you're a disgrace and a failure. An embarrassment. But- Glims is one of those losers now? Is she nothing? No, she can't be! Not to me. But, she is. They all are. No she's not!

My hands shake as my brain twists in agony. Most philosophers consider it impossible to hold two conflicting beliefs to be true at the same time, but that is exactly what my mind is doing.

She's my sister, but what does that matter? She lost. I am superior to her.

She's a failure, a loser, but what does that matter? She's my sister. She matters more than this training.

I lose my grip on the bow and it clatters to the ground.

"Jeeze, Lightning. No wonder your sister got schooled. You Radicans really are idiots." Snorts Camisole Treskins. Glims never liked Camisole. Well, me neither.

"Shut up," I murmur, trying to stop my head from swimming.

"Make me." Snaps Camisole.

"Come _on_, Cami." Whines her boyfriend, Wattage. Everybody knows he'll never make it in to the Hunger Games, but he keeps coming to training. "Don't we have better things to do than bug little kids?"

"Not when they're related to that dead little bitch." Cami growls.

I stiffen. "Don't say that about my sister." I say very quietly.

"Why not, _Lightbulb_?" Camisole mocks, "She lost. She's dead and I can say whatever I want."

Without a word I reel back and punch her in the face. Her nose crunches under my fist.

Camisole shrieks and there are instantly four trainers on me. I thrash, my training taking over. I hate Camisole, so she will die. It doesn't matter why I hate her. I'm a Career. If I hate something, I destroy it. I will kill her.

Camisole is shrieking something unintelligible. One of the few places you aren't allowed to hit somebody in the Center is the nose. If you break someone's nose like I just did, it may never straighten back out. It can ruin someone's looks, and by effect, their chances of getting sponsors. I could very well be expelled for this if her nose doesn't heal straight.

Wait, why did I attack her? It was…Glims. I stop fighting in horror. I couldn't even remember for a minute.

One of the trainers bellows at me to get out before he pushes me to the floor. I scramble backwards, still reeling.

"Lightning!" Shouts Silk, attracted by the uproar. I don't stop. I run for the door and past her.

I don't hear her as she sprints after me. I hear only my heartbeat, the rush of blood past my ears, and my sister's name over and over again. Glimmer. Glimmer. Glimmer.

"Hey!" Silkiness grabs my arm and whips me around. I'm shocked by how far away from the Training Center I got without even realizing I was going anywhere.

"You idiot!" She snaps. "You want to get yourself kicked out?"

I open my mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. I feel frustrated tears welling in my eyes, which I hate. Guys don't cry. Careers don't cry. Guy Careers _really_ don't cry.

Silk is still in her plain training tank top. I'm distracted by the bruises up and down her arm. I shut my mouth.

"What- what happened to your arm?" I stutter.

She blinks. "What? Oh…My mom was drunk."

A lot of Career families beat their kids. It helps us get used to being in pain. Everyone's careful to use blunt trauma only, though. Anything sharp could leave scars, which are almost as unattractive as crooked noses. But those bruises look bad.

"Lightning, look. You can't blow up every time someone makes a comment. You know this will all blow over in a month, tops. You've just got to deal with it. If you can, just forget about her. She's gone, and you're a Career. You always have been and there's no way you can change now. Please, you're only going to hurt yourself." Silkiness pleads.

I shake my head. I don't think that I can.

"I'll- I'll try." I mutter.

"Thanks, Lightning." Silk says with a small smile. "See you tomorrow then?"

"Umm, yeah. Sure. Tomorrow."

Ma'am and Sir have sold Glimmer's cot. It turns out that Queen's bed isn't alone after all. They've moved mine into the middle of the room. I try to remember my promise to Silk and think nothing of it. It's nothing. It's nothing.


	3. In Which Everdeen Gains an Ally

Everdeen woke up today. She was unconscious and screaming all of Saturday, and all of Friday after she got stung, too. Great. Now we have to watch little miss Everdeen prance around and collect her snares all day. And trust me, the cameras almost never leave. There are so many fans of those stupid "star crossed lovers". Please. Nobody in District 1 believes they're for real. What idiot would love a competitor?

Actually, something kind of like that happened one year. A pair of siblings was selected to be the Careers for that year. The familial bonds of District 1 (or at least among brothers and sisters) helped them work well together and they reached the top two. Then they did the sensible thing and settled it fair and square with a fight to the death. The girl sister won after her brother got his foot stuck in a gopher hole. She did take to morphling a while back, though.

I'm crammed into the middle of the couch at the moment because Ma'am, Sir, and I are the only ones without bruises. I thought that Sir was going to beat me for getting in trouble, but he was drunk, and he's a happy drunk. Now he's just got a nasty hangover.

There's mostly silence on the couch. Everyone's still fuming about Friday night.

Everdeen's got some nasty-looking bumps from those tracker jackers. They must be practically the size if Richie's fist. Somehow she still manages to check her snares and walk around and start a fire. I hope Cato finds her. He recovered faster, since he's bigger. The rest of the Careers (which is now Marvel, Cato, Clove, and that District 3 nerd, ever since Glimmer and the District 4 girl named Salacia died) are still mostly useless. But Cato's spitting mad.

I can't wait for them to find her. I can't wait until she dies. I wish I could be there myself. I wish I could be the one to rip out her innards. I wish I could slice off her fingers and use them to gouge her eyes out. The hate begins to stiffen my muscles. I need the Games. The idea of not being allowed in is my worst nightmare. If I don't qualify, what will I do with these feelings? I need to kill. I don't know if a non-Career can understand it. I _need_ to. It's an instinct for me, as much as thinking a girl is attractive or hating my parents once I got to be in my teen years. Killing is a part of me.

If I don't get into the Games, I might do something bad. Maybe I'll lose it, if I have to hold in the murderer I've been trained to be. Maybe I'll go nuts and murder Riches or Illusion. Maybe I'll hurt Silk. Maybe I'll jump off a bridge to make the raging inside of me stop.

I want to snap someone's neck. I want to hack their fingernails off with a knife. I want to push them into a Gamemaker trap and set them on fire. I don't even care who; I just want it.

My vision begins to red tint from the sheer strength of my bloodlust. Kill. Kill. Kill.

"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances." Everdeen says to an unseen follower. Dramatic cut to commercial.

I'm shocked out of my hate by the sudden trespassing of Super Sugar Crunchy Os cereal onto my violent fantasies. Trust me, that's not somewhere they belong.

There's the angry grumbling that always accompanies a commercial break, but none of the screaming fury found on Friday. Obviously the Gamemakers have decided not to disclose the identity of the person following Katniss for dramatic effect. None of us Radicans care who it is that kills Everdeen, just so long as she dies. Hopefully this person is going to take care of this for us. Katniss seems to think that they're trustworthy, but she's an idiot. So maybe they'll kill her.

Illy and Richie have a murmured conversation during the break and Fame goes to get more popcorn.

"Ma'am, where's the butter?" He calls from the kitchen.

"Cupboard over the sink." She calls.

"And grab me a beer!" Sir calls.

"Yes sir."

"Arrowhead," Ma'am chides, "I thought you'd stopped drinking so much! We don't have the money to support alcoholism anymore."

"Yeah, I have. Just wait till the Games are over. I'm going to need a cold drink to put up with _her_," Sir answers with a gesture at Everdeen.

"Get me one too, Fame." Ma'am calls.

"Yes ma'am." Comes the muffled response. We turn back to the T.V. just as it returns to live broadcast. The person who steps out of the shadows is the District 11 shrimp. We all groan. What a letdown. Why couldn't it have been Marvel or Cato or Clove? She probably _will _be a loyal ally. There's no reason not to when your ally is so much stronger than you. Really, I have no idea what Katniss thinks she's going to gain from this alliance. Rue knows it too, from the hushed way she double checks that Everdeen actually wants her.

Apparently, Everdeen does, although the reason is still beyond me. Then Rue pulls some sort of leaf out and spits it all over Everdeen's sting. Which is disgusting, but useful. I guess.

So what Everdeen is gaining from this is leaves and saliva. Once she's gotten those, I don't see any reason for her to keep her little friend around. Then she does something monumentally idiotic. She decides to share her sleeping bag.

Several jaws drop. How could even Katniss Everdeen be this stupid? That girl has just been given a prime opportunity to take out one of the (unfortunately) strongest competitors in the arena. If Katniss doesn't think she'll take it, she's a fool. If the girl proves her right, then they're both fools.

We all want to know what happens. Not even in only the Oh-I-hope-she-kills-Everdeen way, although there's a lot of that going. This whole turn of events has shocked us. Neither of them is behaving the way they should. It's stupid and risky. And it just might work.

The Hunger Games are about gains and losses, chiefly. And really, you can twist anything to fit the criteria of gain or loss. But the way we've been trained to think of it at the Center is gains and losses. Here Everdeen gains companionship (worth nothing in the Hunger Games, since it has to end eventually), and sting treatment. And that twig of a girl gains food, shelter, protection, and a plethora of her ally's supplies. She's obviously getting more out of this. I shake my head. Katniss Everdeen is losing a lot of her supplies. She must put high value on that sting medicine.

Maybe she values the companionship, although why she would is beyond me. The Hunger Games is going to take one of them away, at the very least, and probably her little boyfriend too, just the way it took Glimmer.

A chill creeps up my arm. It took Glimmer. Glims is my loss. The Hunger Games is losses and _gains_. What am I gaining?

I'm gaining a lifestyle. It's the Hunger Games that gives us Careers license to be the way that we are. The outside world turns its nose up at our way of life for whatever reason.

I am gaining fame. No matter how it goes down, I will be known.

I may gain riches. If I earn them, they are within my grasp. Actually, I'll receive riches anyway in the pre-Games events.

I'm gaining a birthright. This is the core of my fifteen years, these Hunger Games. It's destiny.

One loss.

Four gains.

I guess the Hunger Games are the better deal.


	4. In Which I'm Beaten by a Girl, Twice

Everybody's talking about Everdeen's alliance with that girl. "Rue", as I will now never be able to forget from the number of times I've heard her name today. I'm beginning to think I'm going to end up hating Rue as much as I hate Katniss, just because I'm getting so tired of talking about her. I wish they'd all just shut up about her already, but Rue is the big news right now. At least they've all shut up about Glimmer.

I guess I should really just be grateful they even let me come back to the Training Center. Camisole's surgeon said her nose job is going to be no problem, but I do have to pay for it. Which is bad. District 1 isn't the Capitol, and it's incredibly expensive here. I'll either have to work until I'm twenty to pay that off or win the Hunger Games. Hopefully the second one.

"What if it somehow turns out to be a _good_ thing for Everdeen?" Babbles Silkiness.

"Silk, can we talk about something else. _Please_?" I complain.

"Oh. Okay." Silk says. "Why don't we start practicing?"

I shrug in agreement and we saunter out of the lounge. We're both already in our exercise clothes, so we head straight for the sword ring. This is a basic skill, but an important one. Swords, knives, archery, all those "normal" weapons are what will save your life. There has only been one Hunger Games in history that hasn't had at least one of those in the cornucopia. Niche weapons like tridents, crossbows, or whips are good to know; they give you that extra, wicked, edge. But they're not what's going to save your sorry hide, in most cases.

We decide to work with some of the shorter, heavier swords first. I throw Silk's to her, hilt first. She catches it easily.

"Don't try to show of, Lightning. You're really not that cool." She says with a smirk.

"Don't be ridiculous, Silk. I'm much cooler than you are." I retort.

"Well, that isn't saying much in the first place." She jokes.

"True." I agree.

"I was fishing for a compliment, Lightning." She says dryly.

"I know. I try not to compliment my friends. They don't need their Career-sized egos puffed up any more." I point out.

"Right. You're a perfect example of way too much puffing." She agrees.

"Oh yeah? Well…okay, I got nothing. You win this time." I concede.

"So that's…twenty for you, twenty-three for me?" Silkiness confirms.

"Yeah. Since the last time we lost count, anyway."

Silk shrugs. I don't think she really cares, as long as she's winning. We take our stances in the sword ring, and the atmosphere changes in an instant. We're not playing anymore; we're dead serious. If you'll pardon the pun. As Careers, we _will_ fight. Not to is unimaginable. Even if events take a turn for the worst and one of us doesn't go in, fighting is inevitable. District 1, once you leave the upper class neighborhoods behind, is not all sunshine and luxury.

"Let's go." Silk says, her voice low with concentration. She lunges forward and almost scores a hit on the first try. The swords may be blunted, but they're still heavy enough to hurt, so it's mostly by reflex that I dodge. I slash at Silk, but she parries and returns my offensive techniques viciously.

Pairing up with Silk is probably the best thing I could have done for my swordsmanship. She's one of the best, and the rest of the best don't deign to train with their lowly fellow Careers. Nope, the best of the best take private lessons from Victors. Silk's probably the best I'll be getting. I'm first-string, but not good enough to merit my own trainer. Yet. It's almost unheard of before you turn seventeen anyway, so I figure I'm fine. So for now I'll stick with sparring with Silk. I'll just have to grit my teeth and bear being beaten by a girl until then. But someday I'll beat her too. Hopefully soon.

I think that that day is going to be soon, as I knock her sword out of her hands. But just as I put the tip at her throat and begin to say "dead" her foot whips out, slams straight into both my ankles, and sends me sprawling. Career girls. They don't play fair.

Silkiness whips to her feet, snatches up my sword and kneels on my chest. She sticks the point to my throat and pants, "Dead."

I shove her off my chest angrily as she chuckles in a breathy way. I hate losing. Silk loves winning. So one thing sparring does for us is make us argue more. No matter who wins, there's always a brief fight afterwards. But we're Careers. We find non-familial relationships without conflict boring. Besides, rage is a good thing. You can't just be happy-perky all the time. You'd lose your edge.

"C'mon, Lightning. Get your ass up and try again." Silk taunts.

I slap away her hand and stand up on my own.

"Then let's go." I growl.

Silk laughs loudly. It's always a little…horribly shocking, to be honest, the first time you hear Silkiness laugh. She doesn't look like much with her uniform dark blond hair, brown eyes, and almost boyish frame, but her laugh is something different. It's loud, blaring, and not too pretty to boot. But that's okay. We just end up laughing at her laugh, and it sort of snowballs. It's always a good time.

"I'll see you guys later," Gymnasium calls.

Silk waves, still panting. Gym lives in the better part of town but the bus rides by our stop on the way to his, so we're pretty good friends with him. And even I'm not dense enough to miss how he hits on Silk.

The bus pulls off, and Silkiness waves one more time before snorting with leftover laughter and setting off toward my house. We almost always go to my place when we want to hang out after training. Silk's folks hate the world, including her daughter and her friends. We're not really very welcome. Once they shut us up in Silk's room and we had to break her door down to get out, after we found out the hard way that her window is smaller than it looks.

The walk is nothing special, just chat and a brief fistfight. Which I win, by the way. We push open the door to find Queen and her boyfriend making out of the couch. Lovely.

"Damn, Lightning!" Queen complains, pulling away from Retail's mouth for once. He wraps his arm more tightly around her waist, pressing his lips against the side of her neck.

"Don't you knock?" Queen snaps.

"Not coming into my own house, I don't." I snort. "Why don't you two just get a room?"

"We had one till you came in, Shrimp." Retail rumbles.

I wrinkle my nose. Much as I hate Queen, I hate her scuzzball boyfriend even more. He's one of the rejects that was never good enough to get into the Hunger Games. He's a second-rate Career and a thug. He's not good enough for a Radican, even if that Radican is Queen.

"Go play in your room, Lightbulb." Queen snaps, wrapping her legs around Retails waist.

I grind my teeth. I hate it when she calls me that. Queen was the first one to start mocking my name with "Lightbulb". I don't even mind the name that much, just the way she says it. The look on her face. The way the corner of her mouth turns up when she smirks. When anybody calls me Lightbulb, all I can see is Queen's smug superiority.

"Come on, Lightning. Let's just leave these two to give each other hickies or whatever." Silkiness urges.

Retail and Queen notice her for the first time as she pushes past me, through the door.

"Wow, Lightning. Finally brought a girl home. 'Bout time." Queen taunts. "Where'd you pick her up, and what'd you have to bribe her with to talk to you?"

"He just promised me I could whup his bitchy sister." Silk says with a sweet smile, "Let's go, Lightning."

Queen's eyes narrow, but she lets us walk by with no comment. She and Retail throw suggestive comments at us as we walk into my room.

"Up yours!" I snap as I close the door. "Sorry, Silkiness. My sister…"

"I know," She says with a grimace. "Why'd it have to be Glimmer who died, right? At least she was nice."

I nod silently.

"Sorry. Is it too soon to talk about her?" Silk asks.

I think. Is it too soon to talk about Glims? I don't know. It hurts. To think about her, that is. But at the same time, it feels…vague. Maybe it's the anger at Queen, maybe it's hanging out with Silk, or maybe it's being pumped from training, but…

Glimmer feels different, I realize with a surge of panic. I remember how it felt, sitting on the couch. The rage, the grief, the feeling of having lost my connection to reality, but I can't find those feelings. With rising fear I search for those emotions desperately. I'm forgetting her. Oh my- I can't- I'm forgetting her!

"Lightning, are you alright?" Silk asks. I can tell she's freaked out.

"No, I'm…" I mutter, not even thinking about the words.

Glimmer. Glimmer, my sister. Glimmer who announced that she'd pound anybody who picked on me the first day I started training. Glimmer who stole a really nice set of knives from the Training Center for me on my thirteenth birthday. Glimmer who wouldn't date someone unless I approved him, because she knew I knew who was only after her for her looks. Glimmer who spent all of her goodbye session talking to me and the others about what she'd do with her winnings, and winked at me on the way out the door. Glimmer who Everdeen murdered. Glimmer who's never coming back. Glimmer. Glimmer. Glimmer. My Glims.

I gasp as the familiar rush of pain slams into my chest. What did I almost do?

"Lightning!" Silk slaps me across the face, trying to get my attention.

"Jeeze! What-"

"You freaked out on me. Are you alright?" Silk asks, worried. She kneels next to me on my bed and puts her hand on my forehead like she thinks I'm getting sick.

I slap her hand away. "I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"Like shit you are!" She snaps. "Just tell me what's wrong or I'll…"

"You'll what? Beat me up? You already do that." I point out.

Silkiness' eyes narrow. She'll do _something_, is the clear meaning. And it looks like I won't enjoy it all that much, either.

"Silk, let's just forget about it. I'm sorry." I say, doing my best to be polite for once. Both because I mean it and don't want to fight with my best friend, and to dodge the questions I'm sure she has. Silk always has questions. And it gets annoying.

"Fine." She says finally. She stands up unhappily and paces for a moment.

"What?" I ask.

"I just…no, it's stupid." Silk sighs.

"So? You're always stupid. Why's this different."

Silk gives me a nasty looks and then frowns again, caught up in her thoughts.

"Just spit it out. I wanna know." I smile crookedly, trying to get around the emotions I had to work so hard to find again. A chill goes through me at the memory. The emotions were there, I'm sure of it. But I couldn't reach them for a moment. It's like I had to dig them up, like they were covered by…something. The layers of emotional scum left behind by my Careers mind. The indifference. The anger.

"You're doing it again." Silkiness explodes.

I start. "Uhh- what?"

"I swear, Lightning! You wouldn't know an attention span if it bit you on the butt!" Silkiness snaps. "I'll see you tomorrow," She growls, and storms out of my room.

What just happened? I sit on my bed, open-mouthed and confused. The last thing I hear is Silk's muffled voice exclaiming, "Oh, put your shirt back on!" and the slamming of the front door.

I really hope she was talking to Retail.


	5. In Which I Question Morality

**A/N**- I can't remember if FF cuts out asterisks as page breaks. If the writing seems like the scene changes for no reason, that'd be the problem. I may have to find a new system.

Everdeen's got a plan. Somehow I'm not surprised. This is the wonder girl, the little birthday candle on the cake of the Hunger Games. She's just required to be wonderful, right? My lip lifts in a sneer.

I must admit, it's a good plan if they can make it work. They're going to destroy the Career's food. Somehow.

It's good the Hunger Games are in the summer. I wouldn't want to miss any part of the Games at school. Of course, I miss some things at training, but if something big starts to happen I can just duck into the lounge. But this morning I'm not going to training. At least I won't be for a while. Because when I woke up Everdeen and her tiny friend were already talking about their evil plan. Aren't they the little masterminds?

Sarcasm, obviously. But I've decided to stay and watch until it all goes down. I can be late for training. It's not attendance required like school. And the way Sir glared at me made it pretty clear that going just at this moment would have proved uncomfortable later. Supposedly the Hunger Games are our one big family bonding experience. I suspect it has more to do with our parents wanting to be that little bit more sure that watching death doesn't freak us out. Well, no worries there. We're born and bred Careers. Watching worthless weaklings die is not hard for us in any sense of the word. Actually, the Hunger Games were the first thing some of us saw. Literally. Ma'am gave birth to Illy in the middle of the final battle ten years ago. As soon as my sister popped out, the District 2 guy from that year pinned his opponent and started slowly reducing each one of her limbs to hamburger meat. Not even kidding. The first thing Illy ever saw was someone's left arm being flayed. So we're pretty much used to gore.

Queen shuffles out of the bedroom in her nightgown, yawning. She's usually right up there with Glimmer when you talk about looks, but once you see her first thing in the morning it just ruins it for you. Her hair is a mess (not to mention oily enough to grease any cookie sheet on earth), her eyes are gunked together by sleep, and her mouth hangs open. And her morning breath is the stuff of legends.

She collapses onto the couch. It's a good thing Ma'am, Fame, and Illy haven't woken up yet. Queen's aim isn't all that great in the morning, and she almost sits right on top of Riches as it is. If anybody else was on the couch, there wouldn't have been room for her to flop.

They're splitting up. Everdeen and her minion, that is. Katniss is going to move on the food while Rue sets fires to draw the Careers away. Sounds like a solid plan. If it wasn't Everdeen doing it, I wouldn't much care, but I desperately want to see her destroyed. So naturally, I'm rooting for this plan to end in death. And not the death of a Career.

They split. The camera leaves for a while to allow them travel time. It shows little snippets of other contestants, like Lover Boy rotting on the bank of a river, before Everdeen's little crony lights the first fire.

Marvel notices the smoke first. It's not a surprise. The Nictates are known for their sharp skills of observation. He points it out to the others. They're all ready for blood after the fiasco with the tracker jackers, and looking for ways to redeem their killers' honor. They don't question the flames. Why should they? As far as they know it's another clueless kid with no idea how to sneak around. After a quick discussion they decide to go for it, even taking that District 3 boy, Morley. As soon as they leave, the camera cuts to show Everdeen hiding in a bush. I clench my teeth.

Just when I think she's about to make a move, the District 5 girl slips out. I sit up straighter. Haddock Akaine. I have a grudging respect for this fox-faced girl. She's smart, which is one thing that Careers can't always get by spending time in the Training Center. She figured out how to get around the mines that Marley set up. Now that she's no threat to my sister, I can allow myself to look at her with fascination.

Everdeen watches with confusion as Haddock runs through her dance. Everdeen sucks in a breath as she pitches forward and can't help a soft yelp. But nothing happens. I can see the gears turning in Everdeen's head, and then the understanding in her eyes. So she finally worked it out. Or at least, she thinks she has.

Haddock pulls her usual sampling of supplies from the food and leaves ever so carefully before she disappears into the woods.

Everdeen is thinking hard, oblivious to the second fire her little friend has lit. The silence lets the tension build, and then her eyes spark. She thinks for a moment and stands slowly. She hesitates again before notching an arrow. She shoots, and to my confusion it flies through the side of the apple sack. Then she shoots again, ripping through the other side. She takes aim once more, knocks the arrow, and shoots straight through the rope. The apples fall to the ground.

Boom.

Everdeen is blown back, I assume. I can't tell, because the screen has gone black. Whatever camera they were streaming the video from has been destroyed in the blast, and the Gamemakers are letting the tension build by not switching to a new video feed.

Slowly (like they're having technical trouble, which is a total joke), the video comes back. It's fuzzy and full of static at first, but it clears so that we can see the blast site.

It's all gone. The food has been destroyed. At first I feel a rush of hope that Everdeen's been incinerated with it, but the camera pans to show her lying dazed at the edge of the tree line. I lose track of how long I watch her lie there. It may have been ten seconds or ten minutes. But too soon she gets up. Well, up is a relative term. She sort of just crawls behind a bush and collapses again.

"What _happened_?" Gasps Illy from behind the couch.

We jump, so involved in the Hunger Games that we didn't hear her come in. Illusion is gawping at the screen, still in her pajamas. She must have been drawn out of bed by the explosion.

"Everdeen set off the mines," Sir explains bluntly.

Illusion makes a small noise of understanding. Fame pushes past her with a low grumble and she sticks her tongue out at him. He nudges Queen over and Illusion alights on the arm of the couch. Sir shushes us even though we weren't even talking as Haddock Akaine pokes her head back into the clearing. Briefly forgetting stealth in the amazement of seeing all the food gone she steps out into the open, an expression of awe on her face. She laughs. It's a weird sound to hear in the arena. Laughter doesn't belong there. But she freezes and her eyes dart toward the edge of the woods. Haddock turns tail and disappears just in the nick of time.

Cato explodes into the clearing, his mouth hanging open. He's quickly followed by Clove, Marvel, and Morley. The District 3 boy skids to a stop. Even when he's shocked that someone has managed to outdo his genius trap, he still manages to look more intelligent than Cato.

Cato throws a fit (Glims always called them "mantrums" or man tantrums when she saw a guy really upset about something, but I find that embarrassing to say) and pounds his fists into the ground. He whips around to face Morley. Morley tries to run, and then to plead, but it's no good. Cato is out for blood as usual. Morley's neck snaps between his hands and District 3 is out of the Games. I frown. It would have been smart to keep Morley around for a while. He definitely wouldn't have had the guts to betray the Careers, and he was smarter than all of them. Killing him was a waste of resources. When (if?) I go into the Hunger Games I won't do anything so wasteful.

They argue for a while about the destruction of the food. They decide whoever sprung the bombs is in pieces and go after the fires again, Cato swearing loudly. Once they're gone Haddock appears again, scavenging half-destroyed supplies from the cornucopia. Then she's gone, disappearing like smoke. I again find myself admiring this girl. Of all the ways I could win the Games, her way is not one of them. I guess that's why she's so fascinating. As tough as I am, I have everything to learn from Haddock Akaine. I can't be silent, or patient, or just sit there and be hungry because I know it's smarter than looking for food at the moment. She has the sort of...restraint that I have never been taught to value.

And the camera follows her. Everdeen's not moving for a while, apparently. There's about a five-minute delay between what we see and what goes on in the arena to give the Capitol time to decide what to show and at what angle, so she must not be up and moving yet.

The camera tracks Haddock. Unlike Everdeen, who you can tell is constantly aware of the cameras, Haddock Akaine slips through the trees naturally. It's like she belongs here, instead of being a contestant on national television. I lean forward.

"Got a crush on District 5, Lightning?" Whispers Illy.

"Kinda, I guess," I answer with a shrug. I am fascinated with her, but I don't know if you'd really call it a crush. "I think she's really interesting. Like, how you think Thresh is interesting."

Illy grins and turns back to face the T.V. Television "crushes" are as common as coal in District 12, and they're always gone by next season.

I personally don't think that much of Thresh. He's tough, but he's the typical could-be-a-Career-but-just-isn't-quite type. He's strong, but not as strong as Cato. He's big, but not as big as Marvel. He's good with a knife, but not as good as Clove. He's not going to win. I can tell.

Haddock stays in the shadows, I've noticed. I don't blame her. That red hair of hers sticks out more than just about anything. She usually covers it in mud, but she hasn't had an opportunity for a couple days, I guess. It was never awesome camouflage in the first place, but you do the best you can in the Games.

The camera feed leaves Haddock when she slips in through the mouth of her cave. It switches to some nobody tribute and I head to training.

Silk has gotten over our...whatever you'd call what happened yesterday and is back to her old self. Good. There's a reason she's the only girl in the Training Center I'll hang out with. She's talking to a group of the girls when I arrive. I practically shudder at the sight of them. These are classic District 1 Career girls: Rich, stupid, blond bombshells. But then again, almost everyone in District 1 is blond to some degree. But these are true blonds, with no brown mixed in.

"Alright. See you later, Anklet." Silk says. After a couple more goodbyes to the other two, Embrace and Starlight, she turns to me.

"I _cannot_ believe that shot Katniss Everdeen made," Silkiness begins, in lieu of an actual greeting.

"I'm good, thanks. How 'bout you?" I ask pointedly.

"Oh, I'm fine. But anyway, we're starting with bow and arrows today," Silk commands, grabbing my arm and marching me towards the archery section.

"Ooooookay...good to know," I grumble.

"There's no way some District 12 chick is going to be a better shot than I am! That's just _not_ okay," she growls. I don't point out that Everdeen is kind of a prodigy and out shooting her is probably not possible without years of intensive practice.

"Here. Start shooting," Silk orders.

"Alright, I'm going," I sigh. This will be fun, I'm sure. But it's really not as bad as I expected. Once Silk is over the fact that, yes, Everdeen's a better shot than she is, we can talk about normal stuff. More interesting stuff.

"We should totally crash the dance again this year," Silkiness chuckles. Every year the Training Center has a dance. It usually comes a couple weeks after the Games. Last year Silk and I stole the punch bowl when nobody was looking and booby-trapped the men's front door to pour it on the next person to come in. As luck would have it, it was the mayor coming in to make his speech about how great the Capitol is. We know that already. And that was the best dance ever.

"Dunno, Silk. There's no way we can outdo last year. Not unless we come up with something that's literally genius," I say. My arrow hits the second ring outside the bull's eye. That's my best shot so far. I'm an okay shot; I can hit the target every time, and I'll be able to kill with the bow and arrow. Silk's actually good, but nowhere near as good as Everdeen. I don't say anything though. She'd be mad. And she's better than Glimmer. Glims was never able to master archery. Well, actually she sucked. It was just the one thing she never got any better at, no matter how much she trained with it.

"Yeah. I guess that's right. We better start planning," she says with a grin.

"Silk, are you ever going to go to a dance for real? Like, with a guy?" I ask, exasperated.

"Nope. And you're never going to go with a girl," she chirps.

"Hey," I protest mildly.

"Because none of them deserve you," she sniffs teasingly.

I chuckle. "Nope."

Silkiness smiles. It's nice to just stand here, shooting and teasing each other. Err, well, not shooting _each other_. That sounded a little funny. But anyway, I hate not being able to think of anything but the Games. And...Glims. It's too hard. I'd rather just laugh and train and pretend everything's normal, like I'm not on the threshold of abandoning my entire way of life.

Silk draws her bow, and I glance at her. Her blond ponytail is tucked over her shoulder. As she pulls the bowstring back the sleeve of her shirt rides up, revealing an ugly red line.

"Is that a cut?" I exclaim.

"Oh. Uh, yeah." Silk says uncomfortably.

So much for normal.

"Damn, girl! That looks nasty! What _happened_?" I ask, putting down my bow. Silk pulls her sleeve down uncomfortably.

"I dunno. My dad was just pissed, I guess," she says.

"And they _cut you_?" I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. My parents hit me. That's normal. But to actually make your kid bleed is not cool. Especially when that kid is my friend.

"Yeah. But it's okay. Mom went off on him. She said she didn't want me to scar and he better not do it again. So it's fine. You won't tell, right? I don't want to get in trouble," Silk says.

I'm quiet for a moment. If it's not going to happen again, then I should leave it alone. The last thing I want is for the Harkmers to tell Silk she's not allowed to see me anymore. Silk's parents...well, it'd take less to drive them to that, I'm sure.

"Okay. Fine," I grumble.

"Thanks, Lightning," she sighs. "Next time Dad cuts me you can kick his ass, alright?"

I grin. "Cool."

We lean in toward the television. Everdeen races through the forest screaming, "Rue! RUE!" She's not going to make it, I note with relish. Marvel is going to get there first.

And he does. His spear enters Rue's stomach almost in the same moment that Everdeen's arrow flies into his neck. He rips it out and I grin wolfishly as the blood pours out of the hole ripped into his neck. Good old Marvel. Giving us a show right up until the end.

He collapses into a puddle of his own blood, coating his face in thick red. It's over too quickly, and my eyes drift back to Everdeen. She has that District 11 shrimp in her arms, and I think she's about to cry. Which I don't get. Why is Everdeen so upset about some girl she knew for one day? One day in the Hunger Games, no less. There must be some reason, but it's probably something that you can't understand unless you're weak like she is. The fool.

I don't expect what happens next. Rue asks Everdeen to sing for her.

What? This makes less and less sense. Of all the worthless last requests someone could make, this is a real gem. There's no honor in lying there and being sung to. It's not going to give you a better chance to live, in any infinitesimal way. I can't wrap my mind around this. If I had to choose, I'd ask to be helped to stand. I'd die on my feet, defiant. But this tiny girl wants to be sung to like a tiny child. I guess she is. What a waste of a tribute. It's embarrassing.

"Deep in the meadow,

Under the willow,

A bed of grass,

A soft green pillow.

Lay down your head,

And close your sleepy eyes,

And when again they open,

The sun will rise."

The lyrics don't make any more sense. They're childish, with simple rhymes. They're not going to help you die bravely. They won't give you the strength to stiffen your upper lip and accept it. They're sweet and gentle. Two words that mean death in the Hunger Games.

I glance away for a moment, and I see Illy. She's frozen, again on the arm of the couch. She almost reminds me of Everdeen's little helper. I can see her in the curve of Illy's back, the way she perches on the arm with so much almost-tension, like a loud noise will scare her away. They're both tiny, skinny little kids. Illusion is already beginning to develop a Career girl's subtle muscles, but if you don't look too closely they're not too easy to see. And the way her eyes are reflecting the light of the television...she's tearing up. I'm surprised. Illy's tough as nails, at least when it comes to the Hunger Games. I've never seen her cry. Not for the young, not for the disabled, not for the favorites the entire family has been rooting for for weeks. To see her cry now is just wrong.

"Here it's safe,

And here it's warm

And here the daisies guard you,

From every harm.

Here your dreams are sweet,

And tomorrow brings them true,

Here is the place where I love you."

The silence stretches like a thread. The cannon blows, and everyone flinches. It invades the silence. It doesn't belong there.

Illusions flies off the couch and down the hall to our room, slamming the door behind her. No one else even moves. Everdeen stands up painfully. She stands above Rue's netted corpse, like she feels that she can't leave. That she's not done yet. Her eyes alight on some flowers. Before I know it she's surrounded Rue in flowers.

It's a strange tribute. She's trying to say something, I know it. But I don't understand what. I guess she doesn't want Rue to be forgotten. And she's doing a good job. This image of a tiny, dead tribute surrounded by bright flowers is memorable to say the least. She stands and a mockingjay calls.

"Yes. Good and safe. We don't have to worry about her anymore."

Everdeen walks out of the clearing, and the picture fades out to black.

Commercial break.

I frown. My family has exploded into conversation about odds and how this will affect the course of the Games. Except for Illy.

I cross the living room and open the door to the bedroom. Illy is hunched on her cot, which is pushed against the left wall of the room. I can hear her sniffling. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and her arms are wrapped around them. She's buried her face in her knees and curled her back, trying to hide the fact that she's crying.

I walk to Illusion's bed and sit down softly. I put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she burrows into my side, crying harder.

"Shh...What's wrong?" I whisper, rubbing her back comfortingly.

"Everdeen was sad for Rue. She was crying. I thought you weren't supposed to care in the Hunger Games. I thought that losers were worthless," she sniffs into my shirt, her body shaking as she sobs.

"Lightning, is it wrong? Is it wrong to miss Glimmer? I know she lost, but I can't help but love her. Am I being bad? I can stop, I know I can! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She almost screams, crying harder and harder. I pull her closer to me, stunned. I had no idea. Illusion had bounced around her normal, happy self ever since Glims' death. I had no idea she was so unsure, just like me. Well, not just like me, but close enough.

"I...think it's okay, Illy." I say very carefully. I have to say this just right. If she embarrasses our family, Sir and Ma'am will be pissed at both of us. "Just, try to miss her...quietly. Just, keep training."

She nods into my side. A feeling of unease settles over me. There's no right answer to this question. How can I tell her to hate Glimmer when I myself can barely stop thinking about her? But how can I tell her to love our sister's memory when our parents would beat her and hurt her for turning from the Games? Illusion is a Career, and I can't let her become weak. If she does, I'm going to lose more than one sister.

But there's something that keeps pulling at my mind, something she said.

_Is it wrong?_

It won't leave me alone. Is it wrong? It pounds the inside of my head. But I'm not thinking about Glimmer. I'm thinking of the Hunger Games. I'm presented with a horrifying new idea, one that would totally destroy my entire way of life.

Are the Hunger Games _wrong_?


	6. In Which the Rules Change

**A/N**- Apparently asterisk page breaks aren't working. I'll have to improvise. Sorry if it gets annoying. For now I'll just insert [A Family Affair] between scenes to transitions. If anyone else has a better idea, I'm all for it!

**Edit**- Oops! I accidentally posted a chapter from my other story here. *facepalm* Wooooooooooow. I'm a genius. It's fixed now!

"Lightning, get up!" I hear a voice call from…somewhere. I try to ignore it though, because being asleep is too comfortable. I don't want to deal with whoever it is. Then I realize it's Ma'am and I want to deal with her even less. I pull my covers over my head. I hear an explosion of conversation, muffled by the walls. My half-asleep mind slowly pieces together the impression that something is going on in the TV room. I hear footsteps bang their way towards me and I groan. I knew I shouldn't have ignored Ma'am. Now I'm going to get it.

She slams the door back, not being shy about really slamming it into the wall.

I look at the clock. 10:00 exactly, right about anthem time. I don't know what Ma'am would be so determined I see about the anthem. All it's there for is to tell the tributes who's dead. To us, the audience, it's all old news.

"Lightning Iron Radican, get out of bed before I have to beat you!" Ma'am snarls. I groan and do as I'm told, rolling off of my mattress to kneel on the floor.

"Yes, Ma'am?" I croak. I'm both too tired to be angry about being dragged out of bed, and not really too hot on getting my ass whupped right now. Save that for training.

"First off, you will not receive breakfast tomorrow, for ignoring a direct command."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Secondly, you might want to know that you have missed what may possibly be the most significant event in the history of the Hunger Games."

"Yes M- wait, what?"

Now I'm awake.

Ma'am leans down, her line of sight perfectly equal to mine.

"There has been," she says smoothly, "a change in the rules."

I stare at her dumbly, mind numbed by sleepiness and shock. "In the rules of what?"

"The _Hunger Games_, you ignoramus! What _else_ would I be talking about?" She hisses, grabbing the front of my tee shirt and pulling me to my feet. Ma'am may never have qualified to enter the Hunger Games, but she's got enough brute strength to hurt you worse than you could ever imagine.

"But…the rules don't change," I reply.

"But they have." Ma'am snaps. She lets go of my shirt and I can see the coiled venom behind her eyes. I begin to realize that whatever this rule change is, it isn't good. She's upset.

"What…what did they change?" I ask, dreading the answer. What if they've decided to finally uphold their decisions and ban Careers from participating? But that's not really a change. Maybe they…I don't know. I can't imagine what they would need to change. They've had the past seventy-four years to perfect the Games. For many years, it's seemed like they finally had.

A look of pure loathing radiates from Ma'am. It's in the tenseness of her fists, the curl of her lip, the way her fingers twitch toward where she would have a knife belted around her hips. Once a Career, always a Career.

"Two tributes from the same District may now become co-victors." She spits.

I blink. This makes no more sense than the idea of a rule change itself. The whole point of the Hunger Games is that one child emerges a victor and the others die. Anything else is unimaginable. If you emerge with another, without the glory or burden of twenty-three deaths hanging on your shoulders, it's not the Games.

"But…no. You must have heard it wrong." I murmur. Normally, I would get a whipping for suggesting to either of my parents that they were wrong about anything, but under circumstances like these, even Ma'am is willing to cut me slack.

"No, Lightning. It's the truth. Katniss Everdeen can escape with her…Lover Boy."

It's not fair. It's- no. Katniss can take my sister away, but she can keep Peeta Mellark? This isn't supposed to be happening.

"I'm going to bed." I turn mechanically and climb back to bed, my mind blank, and happy to be so.

[A Family Affair]

The Games aren't as equal as I thought. The balance is delicate. If Everdeen and Mellark both survive, the balance tips toward the Districts. But…do I have the right to want them dead? _Yes!_ My mind screams, _She killed your sister!_ But Glims wanted to be in the Hunger Games. Is that like signing some sort of contract? By wanting to kill you accept all death, even your own? But, is it wrong to kill in the first place? My head is spinning. I need to think about something else. There's nothing interesting happening on the TV. But then again, I don't think anything that isn't Katniss Everdeen in danger is interesting. But anyway, I've given up on sitting around at home. I head to the training center.

I've missed way too many classroom sessions lately. While training is completely voluntary, you miss a ton when you don't go to class. That's where you learn new moves and weapons before you can execute them. If you don't bother to show up, then you're winging it in the practice ring, and if you somehow have enough talent to become the next tribute, you're winging it in the arena. Which is never good.

I throw on my training clothes, deciding to just change here and not have to carry my stuff back and forth, and wait at the bus stop. It's only a fifteen or twenty minute walk, but the next bus is due in just a couple minutes, and the ride will be a lot faster. Plus, I may be a trained killer, but I'm incredibly lazy.

"You guys coming?" I call. The younger kids bounce out the door behind me, but Fame and Queen hardly spare me a glance from their cereal where they're gravely discussing that rule change.

I close the door and follow Illusion and Rich down the sidewalk, stepping over a broken beer bottle. Honestly, why can't people keep their trash off the sidewalk? Smashing your alcohol all over the street's an awful waste. But that's lower-class District 1 for you.

"Hurry _up_, Lightning! We're gonna be late," Illy says. I look at her uneasily. My sister has always acted young for her age, and I have to admit I worry about her more than any of my other siblings. She's tiny. Some people with small stature can win the Games with no problem, but for most it's a real problem. I can imagine her pinned down under some giant farmer boy from District 11 while he breaks her skull with his bare hands. And now, knowing that she was so rocked by Glimmer's death, I am horribly afraid that if she goes into the Games she won't come back. You have to be tough for the Hunger Games. Even buried, her emotions could kill her. I frown. Before Glimmer was killed I would never have had to think these thoughts. Everything has changed.

Everything. My mental legs are swept out from under me with the sudden resurgence of the thought I've been desperately ignoring since late last night.

_Are the Hunger Games wrong?_

I have no way to force my mind to wrap around this idea. This question of morals. Of all the years I've been here and had the Games ingrained into every part of my life, never once have morals been mentioned. For obvious reasons. I've been the prefect Career poster boy for years, and once it occurs to me that there could be something wrong with killing and I'm sent spinning.

Illy finally gets tired of waiting for me and runs back to drag me to the corner. We get there almost at the exact same time as the bus and climb on. Richie and Illy rush all the way to the back, where the bus will bounce them the most. I follow more slowly, with more reserve. The pounding ideas in my head, the swaying of the bus, everything threatens my already tenuous grasp on my composure. I sit down next to Illusion and Richie and try to figure out how to decide about the Games. Every system of reasoning I can think of comes right back to the Hunger Games. It feels unfair to judge it this way, but I soon decide that it can't be helped. So I go to my old fallback.

Pro: I get to satisfy my killer urges.

Con: Someone dies.

Pro: Chance to win fame and fortune.

Con: Chance to die.

Pro: Keeps poorer Districts in line.

Con: Causes anger among those who know the dead.

Pro: Let's see…

Con: People lose part of their family.

My throat works hard. I count the pros and cons in my head four times. The total is always the same. Pros: 3. Cons: 4. I try desperately to think of just one more pro, but I'm beginning to reach the worst possible conclusion. By their own system of reasoning, the Hunger Games are bad.


	7. In Which I Make a Choice

**Edit**- Yup. Same story here. Must look closed at those labels before I hit save...

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I actually listen to the words I chant at the Training Center, suddenly aware that they might not be as true as I thought they were.

"I will kill without remorse."

Fairly straightforward. This is what a Career is meant to do. I guess it's wrong, but…

"I will bring honor to my District."

In District 1 at least, it's considered an honor to become a victor. I don't know about anywhere else, but we want that honor here. More than anything. More than safety, more than even the money that we get. Well, some of the time.

"No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer."

I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach. The gruesome deaths, the most painful, are the best. To Careers anyway. But…is it inhumane to torture before death? I startle. Inhumane? I don't think I've ever even used that word before, much less applied it to the Hunger Games. I swallow hard and keep chanting.

"No pain is too great for me to overcome.

Is this the truth? I mean, I lost Glimmer and it almost sent me over the edge. I don't think this is the kind of pain that they meant, but in the end it's the same thing. I couldn't take it. I broke down. I'm not as strong as I thought. My heart beats harder, faster.

"The losers are nothing."

Not true. Not true. If Glimmer meant nothing, would I be thinking these thoughts now? Would Illy have bounced into training today with a lag in her usually bouncy walk that only I noticed? I just can't believe that. It's not true. This of all things isn't true. I swallow hard.

"The Capitol is benevolent."

Are they? I mean, I've always thought they were, but what is benevolence, really? Is it kindness? If so, then they most certainly aren't. Even in training, we were never taught that the things we did were _kind_. In fact…

"We are superior."

We had a right to do them, or so we were taught. The District kids (we always thought of ourselves as separate from the lesser Districts, and never counted ourselves as part of those "District children") were scum and they didn't deserve any better than to die by our weapons.

My head is swimming. As soon as I bring in the idea of the Hunger Games being wrong into my head, everything falls down.

Why do we kill without remorse? Because it's the Hunger Games.

Why don't the losers matter? Because they were defeated in the Hunger Games.

Why are we superior? Because we are trained to compete and excel in the Hunger Games.

That mantra was our most core set of beliefs, on which everything else was founded. If it is untrue, then so is everything else I believe. I think I'm going to be sick.

I'm in a daze for the rest of the lesson, during which our instructor has decided to take to go through Marvel Nictate's every mistake leading up to his death in greater detail than necessary. We've heard it all before. Everyone makes the same old mistakes in new combinations in the Hunger Games. Very seldom is anything truly new. When the classroom session is over, I drift out into the main floor. Silk's not here today, so I chat mindlessly with some of the other guys.

Okay. Okay, Lightning. Get a grip. You need to make some choices here. This is wrong. This is all evil. Damn. Okay, okay, come on. Focus.

I'm not thinking about the words coming out of my mouth. For all I know I'm saying, "Troll and mountain garbage can is oven mitt microwave doesn't work". Which, believe it or not, is what Rock Milstren said after Expensive Jurthey hit him over the head with a fifty pound weight. Man, she was a bitch. I'm glad she died last year. It would have been torture having to deal with her if she'd won.

Wait a second, focus!

"Uh, I'm going to go check the Games footage. Be right back," I say to Steel and Blade. They say something unimportant and I duck out of the wrestling stands, where we'd been watching two of the eighteen-year-olds demonstrate new moves. They'll teach me later, I'm sure. And they won't hold back, either.

I do head to the TV room, but I don't really watch. It's some pretty snow footage of Cato and Clove; they're just talking and planning, not actually killing anybody.

Oh, snow. Career lingo, sorry. It means boringly nonviolent.

I drop my head into my hands. "Boringly nonviolent". I'm doomed aren't I?

I look at the screen. I envy those two; they have no fear, no questions about the things they do. But then again, neither do I. I know that I shouldn't do this. I know that this is totally cruel and immoral. My real question is: Is that reason enough for me to change, or am I too selfish? It would be easier to ignore this discovery and go back to my old way of life. I could do it, I'm sure. Just like Illy said when she cried on my shoulder.

That's what steels me, finally. It's the image of my little sister, sobbing because she doesn't know if she's allowed to miss Glimmer or not. That should never have had to happen. This has got to change.

I clench my fists, digging my fingernails into the cloth of my pant legs. That's it then. I can't do this anymore. But I can't just stop being a Career; my parents won't let me do it. So I need to keep going to training to fool Sir and Ma'am. And I can't do or say anything that will betray the fact that I've given up on being a Career during training. That could easily lead to Reform. I shudder. There's hasn't been a reform for as long as I've been training, but I've heard the horror stories. It's something that Career parents will assign "wayward" children, like me, with the help of trainers. It's a brutal form of brainwashing. It has a 100% success rate, technically. Nobody is against being a Career when they get out. Because they either let you out totally broken and obedient, or dead. Kids have starved to death before, and bled out. It's only the really desperate or cruel parents that are willing to Reform their children. And the worst thing is: I'm not at all sure that Ma'am and Sir wouldn't attempt it.

I rub my arms, trying to smooth the goose bumps that have risen on my shoulders. The Reform is something no one ever speaks about. Heck, most of us even try not to think about it too hard. I don't know exactly how the knowledge filters down to us, but it's there. And I know for a fact that the Reform is every Career's worst nightmare. It's not so much the pain or the Hunger or the fear, it's the helplessness. When you're Reformed, they take control of you. Fighting back is futile, and it always has been.

So getting caught is not an option for me. No. I can't let anyone know. Illusion and Richie wouldn't turn me in to our parents on purpose, but they're way too young to trust such a huge secret to. Queen would probably love seeing the Reform beat me into a submissive little pulp. And telling Fame is as good as telling Queen. No, I can't tell any of my siblings. What about the guys? No, they're my friends, but I don't doubt that some of them, or all of them, are well trained enough to turn me in as well. I can't tell the guys. But I'm going to drive myself insane if I try to do this on my own. But what about Silk? She's probably my absolute best friend. She's never done exactly what was wanted of her; she refused to become empty-headed and stupid like most of the girls. I begin to feel a flutter of hope. Yes, Silk can help me cover. I ignore the part of me that points out that she's a born and bred Career. I have to be able to trust Silkiness, of all people.

I stand, resolve quickening something in my blood. My stomach sinks. In all my planning and paranoia, I'd mostly forgotten the fact that I'm still a Career, still violent. I shove the matter to the back of my mind. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Silk's not here today, which means she's probably at home with a cold or something, although it's not cold season. But anyway, I need to find her. I push out the door to the TV room. The guys won't care. They're learning some kickass new moves. They'll just tell me how much I missed out on is all.

As I approach the door to the Training Center, I hear a growing disturbance behind me. I'm pulled by curiosity to one of the hand-to-hand mats, where a pair of small boys are fighting. As he grabs the other boy by the throat and starts throttling him, I realize one of them is Riches.

"TAKE THAT BACK, YOU BASTARD! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Riches screams. My eyes widen. At nine years old, Richie's not very taken to swearing. The fact that he's doing it is a bad sign. Lot of Careers threaten to kill each other, but nobody takes that seriously. That would get you in jail forever. I wait nervously amidst the catcalls and cheers for Richie to let go of the other boy, because it's obvious that he's won this fight. But he doesn't. I don't think anyone realizes that the boy's face is turning blue. I don't think they realize Richie is killing him.

I run forward and pull my brother off of him. The boy gasps and coughs, almost in tears. I shove Riches to the ground.

"What do you think you're _doing_, Riches?" I shout at him

"He said Glimmer was a stupid whore and that you and Illy and Queen and Fame were all going to die too! I'm going to kill him!" He howls. He launches himself at the boy, a younger kid that I don't recognize, and I pull him back again. Then Riches whips out a switchblade, and I can tell that talking to Silkiness is going to have to wait.


	8. In Which My Family is Falling Apart

Riches flips out the blade of the knife, and I swear everyone in the center freezes at once. We use blunted weapons only. The sole exception is when you're shooting, throwing, etcetera, at a target. Then we're carefully monitored. But for someone to pull a knife in a fight like this, that's almost unheard of.

I almost can't believe my eyes. Some of the kids here I might have pegged as the type to bring an outside weapon into the Center, but not Richie. And the look in his eyes makes it clear that he is ready, and maybe even eager, to use it.

Even Careers draw the line somewhere. Killing each other in training is way past the line. But Riches looks like he's about to do it right here. My breath catches. We may be training for the Hunger Games, but to kill here, in training, is punishable by death. I need to stop Richie, but I have the scary feeling that my baby brother might not hesitate to kill even me right now.

I feel the split seconds slipping through my fingers as Richie turns toward the other boy. I realize that I'm too late, that he's going to do it, before someone steps out of the crowd.

"Richie, put the knife down," Illy whispers, barely above loud enough for me to hear. "Please?" She reaches for Richie's arm, and his eyes never leave hers. Her fingers close around his wrist very slowly, and pull his arm down, to his side. Their eyes remain locked. I can feel the tension in their little bubble, but I'm watching it from the outside. If I step forward or interrupt in any way, I'm afraid Riches will snap and hurt Illusion, me, or the terrified boy trying to crawl silently backwards.

Illy and he are still. Their shared gaze is so intense it feels like I'm watching them talk to each other silently, using only the look in their eyes. But it doesn't change, not in any way that I can see. But I think back to the way Glimmer and I could understand each other by just a smile or a raised eyebrow. Illusion and Riches are probably the same.

All of a sudden he turns and runs, the surprised crowd springing backwards to let him through. I'm in shock. No one moves as the Training Center doors slam shut behind him. Illy's arm is still outstretched, like she's holding a phantom version of his wrist in her hands.

Noise explodes all at once. Unplanned fights have broken out before, but never with weapons like that. No one's ever come so close to being killed, especially by an nine-year-old boy.

I don't know what to do. I'm being swarmed, just like Illy, Fame, and Queen are. He's our little brother after all.

I feel so stranded. I'm an island surrounded by a sea of faceless Careers. For the first time I understand how sad this all is.

Look at me. I'm standing here, terrified that I'll be tortured and brainwashed for my opinion on the morality of specialized murder.

My little brother, a nine-year-old child, has just pulled a knife, almost killed someone, then ran off out the door. Richie is not a bad kid. When he's not at training or watching the Games, he's so sweet and…normal, I guess. If it weren't for the Games, for training, he wouldn't be a killer. He wouldn't have just run away, afraid of the consequences for reacting in the way he'd been raised to react.

Illy wouldn't be standing there, surrounded yet still completely alone. She wouldn't have just had to stop her brother and best friend from ripping someone open. She wouldn't have that pained, lost look in her eyes that matches the way I feel inside all the time. The feeling that every breath you take is pulling you a different direction.

Queen wouldn't be shouting in the corner. Even she can't decide what to think. One moment she's shocked that Riches would do something like that, and the next she's sneering about the fact that he didn't have "the guts to go through with it". My eyes linger a little longer on my sister than normal, and I realize how little I know her, and how little she seems to know herself. It's like the training has put this hard shell over us all. It's made us two dimensional, with any unapproved personality traits buried low under a hardened crust. I think of the layer of emotional scum that had begun to form over my feelings for Glimmer and my hands clench. If it wasn't for the Games, would I have been as close to Queen as I was to Glims? Would we still hate each other? And suddenly I hate the Games just as much for this. For all intents and purposes, I've lost two sisters to the Hunger Games, not one. Heck, you might as well throw in Fame too. And my mother and father, who see their children as just one more shot at a life in Victors' Village, so much that they won't even let their children call them Mom and Dad. More than half of my family, gone.

Fame is silent over in the corner. As everyone mobs him, babbling about Riches, he just stands, brow furrowed, watching the spot my brother left empty when he ran from Illusion. I'm not used to seeing Fame this way, so still and thoughtful. Have I so truly missed out on ever knowing him too? He looks up slowly and our eyes meet. The message in our gaze is clear. This is our family. Not just Fame's, not just mine. _Our _family, and it's falling apart at the seams.

And as far as I can see, there's nothing we can do.

[A Family Affair]

"He did _what_?" Shouts Silk, mouth hanging open.

"I don't know what happened," I exclaim, "One minute I was heading over here and the next minute he's about to tear someone's throat out!"

Silkiness swears loudly and kicks the wall.

"Do you even realize how bad this is Lightning?" She rants. Of course I do, but it's better not to interrupt Silk when she's in this kind of mood. "You're already in trouble for breaking Cami's nose. You guys can only keep this up for so long before the trainers get pissed off and just kick all of you out permanently. And you know what's going to happen then? Your parents will take you out into the backyard and _shoot you_!"

"Don't be an idiot," I joke, "They don't have a gun."

"Dammit, Lightning! This is serious!" She shouts.

I grimace. I don't even want to know what my life would be like if I got kicked out. Even if I manage to survive the inevitable beating-into-a-pulp that Sir and Ma'am dole out, I'll have no future. Failing grades all through high school, murderous rage to worry about keeping under control. At least if I pretend to go through with and complete my training, I may be able to get a job supervising at the training center. But if I get kicked out, my life is officially and totally screwed.

I put my face in my hands.

"Yeah, Silk. This is serious. More than you know," I sigh.

Silkiness freezes and slowly turns to look at me. I don't meet her eyes. I know the look on her face. Head turned slightly to survey me mostly from her left eye. Jaw set and mouth closed tightly. Look about ready to kill me. I've seen the look plenty of times, and it's still terrifying.

"What do you mean?" She says, her voice low, almost a growl.

"I…don't want to be a Career anymore," I say quietly.

Silk sits down on her bed with a bump. The look is gone, replaced by total shock.

"You- you…_what_?" She mumbles. But it's just a reflex. She knows what I said.

"Damn, Lightning." She whispers, "What are you going to do."

"I'm just going to pretend. I'll throw the final audition to go into the Games."

Silk is silent. These few moments are the most critical. This is going to be when she decides. She can either be a good little Career and turn me in, or she can be a good little friend and put herself in danger by not turning me in. Pretty simple choices, when you put them that way. But either way her actions will have huge consequences. She turns away from me and walks to her window, pulling at the sleeve of her sweater. She leans against the windowsill and rests her forehead against the cool glass. Her face is almost unreadable. All I can tell is that she's not happy.

"You know we're screwed if your parents find out, right?" She says finally. I almost burst out crying. She's not going to tell. I stagger in relief to the other side of her room and wrap my arms around her shoulder, shuddering with relief. She sucks a sharp breath of air and shrugs off my arms. "Don't go all sappy on me, boy," she warns.

I laugh. Good old Silk. Nice to know there's still _something_ I can rely on.

[A Family Affair]

I walk home slowly, one foot in front of the other, dreading what I'll find when I get home. I don't know where Riches went. Nobody did before I went to Silk's house. I could ride the bus home. Gymnasium'd probably even be there, since he rides home from his internship right about this time, but I decided to walk. I want to take as long as I possibly can. I want to put this off. And I want privacy. This'll be the talk of the Career subculture for the next couple of weeks, I'm sure. I'm already taking shit for Glimmer's death. I don't want to deal with this right now. With any of it.

I sit down on the curb, rubbing my temples miserably. I think I'm getting a migraine or something. I hate my life. So much.

For a moment, I seriously consider killing myself, just to leave all of these stupid convoluted politics behind. But I'm not that stupid. Even now.

I groan push my knuckles against the sides of my head some more, but it doesn't make any difference, really. I wince and force myself back to my feet. I better just go home and deal with it. I'm going to have to sooner or later.

I lick my lips. Fifteen, almost sixteen. Three more reapings, one of which I'm going to be expected to volunteer during. That'd be my last one, at eighteen. That's how my parents want it to be. Ma'am and sir want to give us as much training time as possible, so all of us are expected to wait until our last possible reaping to volunteer. Of course, it didn't do Glimmer much good. I grimace at the memory of her shooting at Everdeen with that bow. She knew she was terrible. She should have used something else.

I kick a rock out of the way. I have three years of freedom. Well, not freedom, really. But three years until I had to blow off arguably the most important event of my life. And I would have no way to explain it.

I guess I'll have to start being bad at stuff now. Or, soon anyway. I'll need to start slowly messing up on stuff to make it believable. But then I wouldn't be able to get a job as a trainer later on, and Career stuff was almost all I knew how to do. I guess I should start paying more attention in school, but I'm already so far behind I'll never catch up.

My migraine is getting worse.

I need a plan. Something genius. Something mind-shatteringly amazing. I'll tell you if I think of anything.

Well, I have three years to think that up. And a lot less until I have to deal with my parents.


	9. In Which I Stick to the Rules

I push the door open reluctantly. As I expected, it's not a pretty sight.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do with him now, the little bastard?" Screams Sir.

"Shut up! We need to think of some way to explain this to people at the training center!" Growls Ma'am. She's always been more practical.

Illy's head is poked around the door to the kitchen, so I assume that's where us kids must be hiding out for this argument, like it usually is. I inch over to Illusion, back pressed against the wall. Ma'am and Sir don't even pause in their argument. They don't bother acknowledging me.

I quickly slide behind the door, and Illy clicks it shut.

"You just wait till they calm down about Riches. They'll be on your ass like that fatass Harm Bildrow on a cupcake when they do. They're pretty pissed that you disappeared like that," growls Queen.

"What about Richie? He's the one who's going to get himself kicked out of training," I protest.

"They found him wandering around Midway Park in a daze," she dismisses.

I look around the kitchen. It's always been our choice of refuge for the lucky ones of us who weren't in trouble when our parents were arguing about us like this. I knew where Richie was: Locked up in our room. Once upon a time there would have been five of us together. Now there's only four.

"What's he gonna do," Illy says quietly, "if they don't let him go into the Games anymore? The Training Center people, I mean."

We're quiet for a moment before Queen snorts, "It's not even going to matter. I'm going to win next year and we'll be so rich that none of you will ever need to go in ever again."

"That's what Glimmer said," Fame says in a low voice. We all turn to look at him slowly.

Queen's always kind of been his…ringleader. I don't think I'd ever seen them disagree, ever. About anything. Even Glims and I fought sometimes. But not Queen and Fame. To hear him say that, tantamount to saying that he's not sure that Queen can win, is shocking.

They stare at each other for a moment before Queen responds with an impressive (for her, anyway) attempt at patience.

"Well, Glimmer was wrong. She died. I won't," she says very slowly. Fame drops his eyes to his shoes and says nothing.

"I'm going to be famous," Queen says, her voice cracking a little bit, but soon gaining strength as she continues. "I'm going to go down in history when I win the third Quarter Quell. I'm stronger and prettier and smarter than Glimmer, and I sure as hell won't lose the way she did. I'm going to win. I'm going to survive. And no one is going to stop me, you hear that? I _will_ have this. I _will_."

Her voice is shaking a little bit, but not in a weak way. It's more like there's so much strength and sureness in what she's saying that it's just too much for her voice to handle. I stand in silence. I know how much the Hunger Games matter to her, and I wonder what that's like. What it feels like to want something that much. I know she doesn't care that much about me, or her boyfriend, or our parents. She doesn't care what the Games have done to her sister, or the hundreds and hundreds of kids who have died before her. And I envy her.

I feel so disconnected, so lost. I guess that's the real reason I needed to tell someone, that I went to Silk's house today. I need something, someone, to tether me. I need to have some tie. When your entire way of life is shot to hell all you really have left are the people you can trust. Which, right now, pretty much amounts to Silkiness Harkmer.

I watch Queen as she silently sits down on the counter, staring at her knees as her fingers wrap around the edge of the countertop. I wish I had something that made me feel so much passion. I wish I had something I needed. But I don't. And it's the loneliest feeling in the world.

Ma'am and Sir's bickering cuts off abruptly. Illy frowns and presses her ear up against the door.

"There's someone else coming in," she murmurs. Queen, Fame, and I look at her expectantly.

"It's a man. He's talking about Richie," Illusion reports in a whisper. "He says Riches can't be around the other kids anymore, but they want him to keep training because he showed…in-ish-uh-tib…"

"Initiative," Queen corrects. Illy nods.

"Yeah. He showed initiative, so they want him to keep up with his training. But he'll have to do private sessions and they'll cost a lot."

Us older kids share a shocked glance, for a moment forgetting that we don't get along. Private sessions? They want to give him private sessions? That's a big deal. Like, a freaking _huge_ deal. Queen's auditions for privates aren't even set for until after the Games end, and she's probably going to go in next year. If Riches gets private sessions for the next nine years, damn will he be good. Maybe the best ever to come out of District 1.

"Sir says yeah Riches will do private sessions, and we'll find a way to pay for 'em. He's asking why they're not free though, the way they are for the kids who are about to go in. The man says it's because kids heading in agree to pay a whole lot to their private trainers from their prizes if they win, and anybody who takes Richie on is going to have to wait a really long time for that, and they don't want to waste so much time training someone for free who might or might not die. Ma'am says we'll find a way to pay," Illy finishes.

I sit down slowly. Wow. Almost ten years of privates is going to make my brother…stronger than I'll ever be, for sure. But I'm worried about him. He's already too aggressive. Hell, he almost killed another kid. In ten years of intensive training, I don't think the Hunger Games will be enough for him. I've heard the horror stories of Careers who win the Hunger Games who can't stop killing. Their families go first, of course, what with being around them in closed quarters for a long time, and the peacekeepers just turn a blind eye. But if that's not enough, the Victors roam the streets at night. A lot of them die that way, tangling with streets gangs. Others become serial killers. Some of them hold in their bloodlust and are driven insane by their need to kill. I don't want Riches to be one of them. But how am I supposed to help him? I realize that not only am I in a sinkhole of doomed future, but it's swallowing my family too. And I can't dig any of us out.

My eyes scan across the room, taking in each of my siblings. Queen, who I've fought with so long. Fame, who I've always ignored or dismissed if I wasn't arguing with him. Illusion, who I know is almost as weak as I am, but whom I can't help for fear of damning her to the Reform. Riches, although I can't see him, having his life decided for him by parents who see him as just another shot to get into Victor's Village. Me, the disillusioned Career. The prodigal son. But there's no loving father waiting for me to come back to him in this parable. There's no happy ending in sight, for any of us.

Illy stumbles backwards as Ma'am throws open the door.

"You. Get in here," she growls at me. I hunch my shoulders and stalk into the living room, expecting a beating. And I'm not disappointed. But I don't bleed or anything, so it's all good. Relatively. Some scars might not be so bad in my case. I'm not handsome, so tough is probably the best physical angle for me. The more marked up I look the better, I guess. But I don't really want to provoke Sir and Ma'am enough to beat me, and though I can kill anyone else in too many ways to count there's no way I could cut myself, so I guess-

I go unfeeling for a moment, shocked into numbness by my own train of though. What the hell am I thinking about?

I'm distracted by an elbow connecting with my jaw.

"You're _really _pushing it lately, kid," Sir growls into my ear, "And you better shape up or I'll beat your worthless ass so hard you can't grow anymore. Now get out of my sight before I get too tired of looking at your ugly mug."

I lie still for a moment, preparing myself. Then I peel myself off the floor, feeling the pounding ache of the bruises I'm sure are going to look like camouflage pattern blobs tomorrow. I push myself painfully up on my hands and brace myself against the wall as I rise to my feet. I sway for a moment before taking a step toward my room. I almost collapse, but all that will accomplish is my parents beating me more. So I fight my way down the hall, unlock the door to our room, and force my way in. I collapse on my cot, not even caring that I'm alone in a room with a homicidal nine-year-old killing machine. Because for the first time I'm really feeling my parents' blows. Before I could always shut it out and just focus on how it was going to help me in the Games, like I almost did today. I just thought about how much tougher the pain would make me, about how accepting that pain was preparation for accepting the inevitable pain of the Games. And to be honest, there's a part of every Career that can't help but love pain, even their own. But that part frightens me so much now that I just shove it away into the back of my mind.

I wonder what other parts of myself I've never questioned. My need to kill, my parents' abuse, the brainwashing of my siblings. Why did I never notice any of this before? I guess…because it was normal. It was just the way things were. Still is, for most of District 1. I let my mind wander as I lie facedown on my cot. How many other kids think the way I do? How many more are just waiting for that slap in the face, like Glimmer's death was to me? Is it only me? Or are almost all of us zombies just going through the motions because if we're caught we'll be destroyed.

I begin to feel a strange almost-tingling at the base of my spine. What if… No. It'll never happen. But I can't quite shake the idea.

Why does anyone who turns his or her back on Career philosophy get crushed? Because so many of its followers are so powerful. But if there are a lot of kids who are just as disillusioned as me, and they're just so afraid of all the other kids they think are loyal Careers, then what would happen if someone came forward? If we could find strength in numbers…

I can feel my heart start to speed up. This is ridiculous, I know. But I can't help it. Maybe, maybe if I-

I stop my train of thought, slapping myself mentally. No way. Don't even think about that, Lightning. That's suicide on your free will. You can't risk being wrong and facing the Reform. Just stick with the plan, stick with the plan.

But…me. And Illy. I mean, I'm not alone in being not quite sure. Of course, Illusion did suck it right back up and go back to training. But I can't help holding onto that little glimmer of hope. Because it's better than facing the alternative, which is that nothing will ever change and there's no hope for my District. Because as cruel as Careers might be, there are good people in District 1. Hell, even some of the people in the Training Center aren't half bad. But they're not the ones who go into the Games, the ones everyone outside of the District sees. Which is how we get our nasty little reputation.

And if I can save some of those kids, those one or usually kids who volunteer to die, then shouldn't I?

No. No. I have to stick to the plan, Lightning. Stick to the plan.


	10. In Which the End Approaches

The days begin to slip by faster, although no easier. If life before now has been trudging through the aftermath of Glimmer's death, now I'm smashing through it head first.

It's harder than I would have thought to hold back my newfound hate for the Games. When I chant propaganda in the classroom, all I can think of is how they all believe it. How they think Glimmer, Marvel Nictate, the now-deceased Clove Bettany, and every other person ever to die in the Games is worthless. How they'd think I was a disgrace if they knew my thoughts. Well, they wouldn't be my thoughts for much longer. I signed my soul to the devil that day I started training at seven years old. And he's not going to be happy if I try to take it back.

The Reform is always on my mind. It's what keeps me chanting. Whenever I feel that urge to change all this creeping up on me, I just think about the things I know they're willing to do to me to break me. They'd rather see me dead than fallen away from their cult. I stumble a little in the mantra, but pass it off as a cough. I've done a lot of coughing lately.

Some of the guys have picked up that I'm a little off. I'm not as into it all as I used to be. But to be honest, most of the guys here have apparently had lobotomies, and don't seem to think anything of it. With a little bit of work, I could probably pull the wool over everyone's eyes and just say I'm not feeling well. Except for Silk. She would have figured out that something was up. Which is why I'm glad she's on my side.

When she's here anyway. Silkiness has been missing a lot of training. I don't know why. She says it's nothing, but I don't really buy it. Silk's a Career, and she's made it clear that she'll accept me not wanting to go into the Hunger Games, but that doesn't mean she feels the same way. Actually, that conversation went something along the lines of, "Lightning, if you have issues, that's cool. You've _always _had issues. But the next time you try to talk me into dropping out of training, I'm going to kill you, and I'm not even exaggerating."

Of course, I'm paraphrasing a little, and of course Silk wouldn't _really _kill me despite what she says, but I wouldn't put it past her to beat me up. So I'm going to lay off of her.

She's here today, though. She said she wanted to get out of the house, and so we're going to go over to my place after training to watch the Games. Since they've reached the final four, there's always someone monitoring the television in the lounge in case something starts going down that we really need to see. If that happens, it'll be one huge stampede of Career to get a good view. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the smaller kids got trampled.

Then before I even really realize it, the siren is blaring. The siren that means we need to head to the screen. Now. And everyone's on his or her feet immediately, pushing and shoving to be the first to get into the lounge.

What with my being distracted and all, I only get into about the middle of the crush. It's not a great spot, but it's better than Illy's. She waves at me from the back of the crowd, the people who didn't get here fast enough to even fit inside the lounge itself and are pressing their faces up against the transparent walls. I wave to her and she starts struggling through the crowd to me. She's small enough to work her way through, and I lift her up onto my shoulders, much to the annoyance of the people standing behind me. But I just watch the screen.

Haddock Akaine, that crafty girl from District 5, scoops the berries and cheese from right behind Peeta Mellark's back. She hesitates for a moment, probably deciding if killing him is worth the risk, and then disappears. The feed follows her as she dashes silently away from the idiot from District 12 who still hasn't noticed a thing. I think she made the right choice. Everdeen probably would have been able to follow her if she'd killed the guy.

Although interesting, I'm not sure why we all had to be pulled out of training for this. The people running the training center are actually watching the current broadcast at all times, and what we see is about five minutes behind. So I figure something big must happen soon in their playback.

And then Haddock stops and swallows the berries.

She looks fine for a moment and then starts on the cheese, but abruptly her eyes bug out and she drops her food. Her arms go to her throat, and Haddock makes an awful noise and crumples to the ground, making horrible choking noises. And I realize what is so important. We're down to the last three contestants. Mellark, Cato, and the girl who murdered my sister.

[A Family Affair]

They excused us all from training immediately. Now everyone in District 1 is excused from work, school, anything until the Hunger Games are over. Normally this wouldn't happen until the final two contestants, but in this Games it's more or less the same thing. Now I jog home grimly, with Illusion bouncing along at our heels.

"This is so exciting! I hope they either both survive or Katniss gets ripped to pieces!" She squeals in excitement.

I know what I want. I want Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark to be murdered. Cato can do it if anyone can. But what if he can't?

My hands clench and unclench at my sides. If Everdeen lives, she better suffer. If I ever see her smile again, if I ever see her in any less pain than I am, I don't know what I'll do. It would just be too much.

"Lightning! Hey, Lightning!" I hear Silk shout. I turn around and see her behind us, just barely close enough to make out. I wave to her, but don't say anything. I'm not really in such a chatty mood. I'm sure she understands, even if Illy is blissfully unaware. I smile a little bit at Illusion's constant chatter, even though I'm in such a foul mood. Illy's almost always talking, even when she knows that no one is listening.

Silkiness catches up to us, not panting. She may be missing training, but she's not going to lose her edge. After all, she needs to be in top shape if she's going to survive. In three years…

I push the thought away. Silk's made it clear she's still working towards competing in the Games, and nothing I say is going to make her even consider acting otherwise. There's no point in dwelling on it when I myself am so close to losing it. Besides, the idea of losing Silk too is almost too painful to even think about. So I won't.

She touches my wrist for a moment, silently reminding me she's here, before bluntly saying we ought to hurry or we'll miss the next bus.

As Illy talks our ears off without really waiting for us to respond before moving right on, we pick up the pace. As it is, we just barely catch the bus. We get a few dirty looks because Illy's more or less jumping on her seat, but we don't really care. Maybe it's the way she takes everything without blinking, but Illusion has a way of glossing over things. Of making you feel like everything's normal. And I wish that it were, more than I think anyone can understand. I can't think of anything I wouldn't give to have my world and my life back. My sister back. To just ride and laugh at Illusion and talk about training and school and anything with Silk. Not to doubt. But that's all gone now and it's never coming back. So all I can do now is just hope that Everdeen dies.

At first Silkiness chats with Illy, but as she notices my silence she starts to watch me from the corner of her eye. I glance at her to tell her she's caught and she looks away, but I can tell despites her banter with Illusion that she's still watching me. Well, I've been keeping one eye on her lately, so I guess I really can't complain.

As the bus pulls up to our stop, I suddenly don't want to get home. I don't want to watch the end of the Games, because there's a big chance they won't end the way I want them to. So I drag my feet leaving the bus and walking down the street, much to Illy's annoyance. At first she tries to hurry me up, but eventually she just takes off running. I don't worry about her. She knows where our house is, and she's had enough training to hold off an assailant until Silk and I got there. And if anybody tried jumping my little sister, we'd kick their ass. If she didn't beat us to it.

As much as I try to slow us down, we reach my house in less than five minutes. I can tell Silkiness is just barely staying patient about the whole thing, because she has her sort of if-I-say-anything-it's-going-to-come-out-nasty-so-I-won't-say-anything sort of silence. I ignore it and take my time opening the door and meandering in.

"Finally!" She gripes, pushing past me to claim a chair from the kitchen. Sir looks at her and snorts briefly in annoyance, but doesn't tell her to leave. He immediately looks back to the screen.

We're all here, for once. Ma'am and Sir have been locking Riches in his room when he's not taking lessons or at school, but I'm not surprised they let him out today. To stop him from watching the Games now could get them arrested.

He smiles at me and I smile back, but my grin probably comes off a little strained. Already I can see small changes in his mannerisms: The way his smile is wider, but less full of innocence. The way he slouches a tiny bit more in his seat. Little things like that. Little things that scare me shitless, to be honest.

Silk opens the door, dragging two chairs in for us. We sit down next to each other and lean in, ready for these Games to end.


	11. In Which Things Almost End

**A/N**- I'm sooooooooo sorry for the long update time. But...it's also really long? I'm sorry. I have no excuse. *grovels*

I haven't heard a car go by in hours. It's the middle of the day, but no one is doing anything. Maybe in the poorer Districts it's because they're afraid of Peacekeeper punishment. Maybe in District 1 it's because nobody wants to miss the conclusion of the biggest show of the year. But for me it's because this is my last chance to see Everdeen die. And if she doesn't, I don't know what I'll do. I'm _this_ close to going stark raving mad, I'm pretty sure. If she walks away from this I might just lose it.

I lean forward in my chair. Everdeen and Mellark know exactly what happened. They heard the cannon, and Haddock was close enough for them to make out her distinctive red hair as she was lifted away. But they aren't making a move yet. They're waiting for tomorrow. I don't know if that will fly with the Gamemakers, though, so I'm not going anywhere.

It's been a couple of hours now. The finale of the Games is always exhausting to watch, and this is no exception. Everdeen and Mellark seem comfortable enough and Cato is none too worried either, with his body armor, but us here in my living room are as on edge as any of us have ever been. Last year's Games weren't nearly this intense. It had a nice finale, though, with the District 4 boy strangling the girl from 7 with the intestines of her own District partner. But it was nothing compared to this year, with its huge personal stake. It was a weird feeling: While the Games were on, even though it was mostly the remaining tributes napping for tomorrow, we were unable to imagine missing a single moment. The Hunger Games at this point have something almost hypnotic about them. They're powerful.

The Games disappear briefly, being replaced by commercials for some goofy soap opera that's popular at the moment, and Silk and my family split. This happens every commercial break. One or two people dart off to the bathrooms. Several grab a soda or a glass of water or another banana. Illy returns with her stuffed rabbit Muttsie clenched in her arms. She used to try to convince us she didn't still sleep with Mutt, but we all sleep in the same room as her, so she didn't fool anyone. Now she doesn't care much, but if the kids at the training center found out she still sleeps with a stuffed animal they'd never stop making fun of her. I can't tell you how many times one of us has had to shut her up by threatening to spill the beans about Muttsie. None of us would actually do it (except maybe Queen), but it was still her trump card. Illusion didn't take chances with something like that.

I stay in my chair next to the couch. It's my turn to watch the commercials. If anyone isn't back when the Games come back on, I'm supposed to shout that they're being shown as loudly as I possibly can. It probably won't be a problem, as Illy, my parents, and Silk are already seated again and Fame isn't too far off, from the shuffling sound coming down the hall. I think Queen is still in the bathroom. Richie is grabbing some blankets, ready to sleep in front of the TV tonight, within kicking distance in case something starts happening that he really needs to see.

The Hunger Games logo appears on the screen, the graphics shattering through a computer-generated wall of concrete in the distinctive way that they always have. I don't think they've changed the logo for…well, a long time. Enhanced it as better imaging technology became available, sure, but not changed it. Maybe it's meant to represent the permanence of the Games. The idea evokes a mix of emotions in me. The savage pride I'm meant to find in the Games is still there, in a way, but it's weakened by my recent moral revelations, and horror and pleasure wrestle in my stomach. It's making me feel a little nauseous, actually.

"_Queen! Riches! It's starting_!" I bellow as Fame plops down onto the couch. Queen's not going to be happy he took her spot.

Richie bounds down the hall with his arms full of blankets almost immediately. Queen takes a little longer, as the toilet flushes and I hear the water turn on. She hurries out a moment later, drying her hands on her tight black pants.

"Move it, fatass," She growls at Fame. He just blinks at her innocently and turns his attention back to the TV. She sighs melodramatically and heads toward the couch.

A couple of bright candy-colored announcers appear. They look about ready to pass out from excitement. Their voices have gone even higher than usual from all the nervous energy, and the girl's hands are shaking as she chirps something to her partner. I assume it's some sort of banter and wait impatiently for some information I can really understand.

"_Ow!_ Damn it, Queen!" Fame exclaims. I glance at them for a moment, digging some popcorn out of the bowl Silkiness brought back from the kitchen. Queen's sat down on his lap, and he's trying to shove her off. Nothing new there. Glimmer and I used to do the same thing all the time. They're just playing around, and sooner or later Fame will roll his eyes and squish himself up against the arm of the couch to give her enough room to sit down. Then she'll bark at Ma'am to move over, she'll sit down, and we'll all go back to being quiet. Same old, same old.

I turn back to the television, which now displays statistics. Forty-one percent of voters expect Cato to win, since he's now mostly invulnerable to Everdeen's arrows. Thirty-six percent are rooting for Everdeen the wonder girl. Thirteen percent expect Cato and Everdeen will hurt each other so badly when they fight that they'll die from their wounds leaving Mellark the victor. Well, I assume that's what they're expecting. He's not exactly in prime condition right now, so they'd have to be idiots to think he'd outfight the two strongest competitors in this year's Games. But who knows. These _are _Capitol citizens being polled.

"Get off me!" Fame barks.

"Then get out of my seat. Oof!" Queen yelps as Fame finally manages to shake her off and she tumbles to the floor.

I'm glad my family has taken interest in the statistics of the Games as well as the real hand-to-hand combat. A lot of Career families don't. But there's something comforting about the numbers. It's so much less personal than seeing someone die. When you look at a kill list, it's just names. When you see pictures along with that list, the names now have faces. So what? Faces can be drawn, can be generated by computer. Faces don't mean anything. But when you see someone die, when you listen to his or her pain… It's different. Not bad for most of District 1, but definitely different. Numbers keep you calm. Murder leaves you wanting more.

"Not my fault you sat on me!" Fame shouts. The playing tone that they used at first is gone. They're really mad now.

"Get out of my seat, would you?" She screams back. Sir growls at her to sit down because he can't see the TV, but she ignores him. She starts toward Fame, who stands up and clenches his hands into fists. I finally turn my full attention away from the television, too dumfounded to do anything. What…what is going on? Are Queen and Fame _fighting_? Really fighting? Even Glimmer and I had fought, but never Queen and Fame. Even when he said he wasn't sure she could win the Hunger Games was mind-blowing. This is unimaginable. Queen reels back and punches Fame in the face. He's knocked back onto the couch, spouting swear words. He jumps back to his feet, looking downright murderous, and my parents leap to their feet. The rest of us watch in silence as they pull Queen and Fame apart, shouting over their insults and curse words. Sir shoves Fame to the floor on the other side of the room, pushing his back against the wall. Ma'am has Queen's arms twisted behind her back.

"Now, both of you calm down," Ma'am growls, the dangerously silky tone of her voice ragged as she pants slightly. "I know we're all a little…excited, but let's be civilized about this."

_Yeah, let's be civilized while we crowd around the television to watch the conclusion of a TV show whose aim is to kill twenty-three children, _I think, before I realize how much of a hypocrite I am. I want to see this end in death just as much as anyone. Except I want it to end in Everdeen's, specifically. Maybe I'm not any better than I was as a Career. Maybe humans are just so violent we need to direct it somewhere. Sure, the Games are wrong, but maybe they're no more wrong than whatever will replace them if they are brought down.

"Now sit down, Queen," Ma'am orders. Queen obeys unhappily, and Fame smacks Sir's hands off of his shoulders, but doesn't stand up. "Glimmer failed us, and _you _all are following suit." Ma'am looks around at us in distaste, her lip curling.

"This family's reputation is hanging by a thread, and all of this infighting and failure ends now, do you hear me?"

I want nothing more than to tell Ma'am off- what gives her the right to insult us? They didn't even let her go into the Games –but I keep my mouth shut. I'm not interested in getting my ass kicked by my parents tonight.

"Now, we're going to sit down and watch the Hunger Games like any _normal family, _got it?" Ma'am snarls. "Good."

There's a long silence, broken only by Everdeen and Mellark holding some intentionally shallow conversation as they wait for morning to come. The light from the television paints the carpet green and yellow. Ma'am sits down on the couch without looking at us again, and Sir joins her. Fame stays where our father shoved him, sitting against the wall, and no one says anything.

"Lightning, wake up."

I force my eyes open. Illy's poking my foot groggily, a line of drool still dried on her cheek. Gross.

I push myself up, my blankets wrapped around me in weird ways. I remember lying down, but not falling asleep. I look out the window as I rub my eyes, trying to gauge about what time it is. It looks bright outside, so it must be later than I thought.

"Wha's…wha's goin' on?" I yawn, trying to get the TV screen to come into focus.

"Katniss an' Peeta are at the lake. Cato isn't yet, but…" She turns to the TV. No need to finish that sentence. He will be soon, either on his own or with Gamemaker "help".

I roll over to shake Silk, but she grunts, "Yeah, I'm awake," and struggles into a sitting position, one eye still shut.

Stretching, I climb onto the couch, wanting a more comfortable seat for this. The real finale. It was coming; we could all feel it. The time for playing around was over.

Silkiness clambered over the arm, shoving me a couple of inches toward the center of the couch. Queen stumbled down the hall from the bedroom, since her majesty looks down on sleeping on the floor. She and Fame haven't said a word to each other since last night. I'm starting to get kind of…worried to be honest. This wouldn't have happened if Glimmer had come home. But she didn't. And now the doubt that that planted is ripping apart bonds that used to seem rock solid. The Hunger Games really have destroyed this family. And here I am cheering them on if it means Everdeen dies.

"What's fer brea'fast?" Riches yawns from his spot on the floor. Sir mumbles something about beer and Ma'am raises her eyebrow at us kids.

"You can get your own food one day out of the year can't you? This morning I don't need to cook for you?" She says, eyebrows raised. My siblings, Silkiness, and I look at each other helplessly. I can't remember the last time I made anything other than cereal. Whatever else I could say about my mother, Ma'am kept me fed.

"Get your scrawny asses into the kitchen and make me some eggs," Sir grunts. None of us move. "Hurry up!" He snaps.

Surprisingly, Silk's the first one to wobble into the kitchen. Illusion scrambles behind her, mostly awake already. Damn morning people. I force myself to my feet again and stumble around the piles of blankets and pillows arranged on the floor to get to the kitchen. "Well?" I growl at the rest of my siblings. Fame and Queen ignore me (surprise, surprise) but Richie follows reluctantly.

I slam the door behind him, a little pissed off at the other half of my family for being such lazy assholes. But why should I be surprised?

"Why eggs?" Silkiness mutters as she fumbles around our fridge. "If they were going to make us cook them something they could at least make it interesting."

"Speak for yourself. I'll probably burn the house down," I grumble back. "Or poison them. Although that wouldn't be _quite _as bad."

"I don't see why you mind so much. I can't remember the last time my mom made _me _breakfast," Silk answers, laying the carton of eggs down on the countertop.

"Yeah, but Ma'am is still a psychotic bitch," I pointed out.

"Honey, not in front of the kids," Silkiness teases snarkily. I wave it away.

"Not like they haven't heard it all at training," I reply.

Silkiness smiles ironically. Training is worse than a middle school at recess, with everyone trying so hard to look tough for the other kids. Not that it _really _takes a ton of guts to swear. Doesn't make any difference to the masses.

"Not that my mom's not a bitch. She's just a bitch who hates cooking," Silk grumbles.

"Yeah. Well, we've kind of already run the conversation of how jerky our parents are into the ground, anyway," I say.

"Yeah. I guess so," Silk mutters, rubbing the arm of the old sweater she used for a pajama shirt. She didn't want to risk missing anything by going home to get her stuff, and none of the women in my family would share (well, Ma'am and Queen wouldn't. Illusion would, but she's too small), so Silk had to borrow some of my stuff. It's all loose on her, but it fits well enough.

Illusion shuffles to the counter, her arms full with a half-eaten block of cheese and a bunch of vegetables.

"I don't really think we can put carrots in the eggs, Illy," Silk points out. Illusion's face falls.

"Oh…" she mutters, looking a bit embarrassed. She turns to put them back into the fridge when Silk snags one out of the bag and sticks it in her mouth, snapping almost half of it off at once.

"Hey, I didn't say I didn't want 'em," Silkiness says with a friendly grin, "Eat up, shortstuff."

Illy smiles hugely. She idolizes most of the older Career girls, Silk in particular, and she's obviously tickled pink by Silk's friendly attitude.

"Found it!" Richie exclaims. He pulls a pan out of the cupboard. He hoists the heavy cooking utensil with much more ease than I did at his age. It looks like he can barely feel it, even though he's lifting it one-handed. At this rate he'll be one of the strongest boys ever to graduate from the training center. He'll go into the Games for sure. A pang hits my stomach. I try to tell myself that at least he has a chance. I can see this frightening future Riches smashing down the competition, bringing home the fastest win in the history of the Hunger Games.

I can see him coming home, crowned a victor. He's leading his family, the little people who happened to be lucky enough to raise him, into his big new house in Victor's Village. Maybe Illy won't have gone into the Games, or maybe he'll even go in before her, but I can't imagine Illusion walking into his house as a victor. I can't imagine her as a victor at all, to be perfectly honest. It's just a gut feeling really, but I can't get it out of my head that if she goes into the Hunger Games my sister will die. That's too painful to consider, so I revise the story in my head. I convince her not to go into the Games. Queen becomes a victor too (as big of a bitch as she may be, she's my sister and I can't wish her dead) and she and Fame are off in her house, much happier to be shot of the rest of us. Good riddance. Ma'am and Sir aren't coming with us. We won't let them. We're free and our lives are perfect. We might not all be "winners", but we're free.

"Do you have some…I dunno, bacon fat or something like that to grease the pan with?" Silkiness calls, interrupting my daydream.

"Uh, yeah. I think so," I say. "In the fridge next to the butter."

Silk…I don't know where she fits into my perfect future. Not cooped up in one place, either in Victor's Village or with a crop of her own children running around in some shabby house. Not dead in the Hunger Games, certainly. Not as just another one of the diamond cutters, or the painters, or the precious gem inlayers. As hard as I try, I can't think of Silk as anything other than she is now, a teenage girl arm deep into the fridge to cook some eggs. It's a little weird, I guess. I know her so well you'd think I'd be able to come up with _something. _But maybe she's just so…alive, so present, that I can't think of her any other way. Maybe.

"You gonna help me or not?" Silk calls over her shoulder as she pulls the grease from the fridge.

"Nah. You're the girl; it's your job to do the cooking," I say, just to bug her.

"Number one: That's incredibly sexist and I could whip your ass any day. Number two: We're cooking for _your _parents, and this is your house," Silk says over her shoulder. She turns on the stove and plops a chunk of grease onto the frying pan.

"Yeah, whatever," I sigh, making a big deal about taking a bowl out of the cupboard and cracking an egg into it.

"Good boy. I'll have you trained in no time," Silk says, smirking. I roll my eyes and stir a fork through the egg goo, since I figure we can't be trusted to handle anything more complex than scrambled eggs. I crack a second egg into the bowl, then a third, and I keep going until the entire dozen is in the bowl. On the last day of the Hunger Games nobody holds back.

I shove the thought of the Games away. I want to just be kids cooking breakfast and making lame jokes just for the heck of it for a while longer. Reality can wait.

"So…we just toss all this junk into the eggs and fry 'em?" I ask Silkiness.

"Yep. Slice up some cheese, Riches," She orders. He nods and pulls out a knife, hacking off uneven chunks and tossing them into the bowl as I set it down next to him.

"You slice up the mushrooms and whatever and put 'em in," Silk says over her shoulder, as she pours the eggs and cheese into the pan with a hiss.

"Okay," I say skeptically. I don't think this is how my mom scrambles eggs, but whatever. I cut the mushroom and the other vegetables quickly and toss them in as Silk scrapes the eggs around the pan to fry them. All in all they look…not pretty. They're actually an odd gray color. But they smell good enough, and I'm relatively proud of my first attempt at cooking. Not that I plan on cooking again. Ever.

Illy perches on the counter and watches the eggs hungrily as Richie steals something or other from the fridge. I turn a blind eye. I don't care if he snacks before a meal on a day like today. The chatting continues, relaxed, until a scream sounds through the door. It's loud, but tinny and a little distorted, so I know it comes from the TV. Which means that Cato must have reached the lake.

The four of us drop everything and rush for the door. The eggs are forgotten as we cram into the living room, screaming for my family to tell us what's happening. Which is rendered unnecessary after a quick glance at the television. It's not all that subtle.

The mutts are gaining on Mellark, who is slowed by his leg wound. Everdeen is already perched on the cornucopia. Some ally she turned out to be. Cato is halfway up as well, which could prove to be interesting. Just in time, Mellark reaches the cornucopia, laboring up the side. Everdeen helps him up, but his leg is bleeding hard. I don't know if one of the mutts now jumping at the sides of the cornucopia got to him or if it's the old wound opening up again. Before I really understand what's happening Cato has Mellark, a sword up against his throat. Everdeen's aiming at him with her bow, but she can't shoot, for fear of Cato dragging Mellark off the cornucopia to the mutts waiting below. This is all going too fast. Everything flashes by so quickly that I'm hardly sure if I'm catching everything that's going on. Whether it's really moving quickly or it's just my flustered perception that makes the moments fly by, I'm not sure. Either way, lives are being decided right now. Everdeen's, Cato's, Mellark's, and mine.

Cato is shouting at Katniss Everdeen, so wrapped up in his threats to kill Mellark that he doesn't notice the other boy tracing a small red X on the back of his hand. And my stomach drops.

Everdeen's arrow flies. Cato howls in pain, but can't escape the reflexive jerk of his hand away from Mellark's neck. An elbow in the ribs later and he's falling, falling, falling.

I freeze as Everdeen grabs her boyfriend and pulls him onto the safety of the cornucopia. Cato's body slams against the ground, and the muttations descend on him like the pack of wolves they are. He screams in fear as the one that used to be his District partner sinks it's teeth into his arm, not quite piercing the body armor.

I can't breathe. I don't join in on Silk's and my family's cries of anger and creative swearing. I sink slowly to the couch, my mind only going more and more numb. The minutes slip by to the sound of Cato's increasingly pain and weakened screams, and then the hours. And then it resolves to a vague moaning. The pack pauses and turns away, called back into the woods by some unknown signal. Everdeen pulls herself away from her slowly bleeding out District partner, and peeks into the mouth of the cornucopia where Cato's mangled body lies. She probably can't see much in the murky shadows inside, but the Capitol illuminates it for the rest of us. His flesh flops in ribbons from every exposed part of his body. His eyes are long since gone. The District 3 girl mutt ate both of them, as far as I could tell. His hands are…well, I think those are his hands. I guess they can't really be anything else. But that right there tells you enough about what shape they're in. But the blood and gore makes less of an impact on me than Everdeen aiming a final shot, and the arrow sticking into his forehead. Amazing. Even when she can't see what she's aiming for, she never misses.

The cannon rings in my ears, my vision swimming with tears I would normally never shed. But as the moments stretch by with no trumpets of victory and no approaching helicopters it's clear something is wrong. Everdeen and Mellark decide that they need to distance themselves from the body first, and begin to labor down the side of the cornucopia. A small flame of hope begins in my stomach. Why would they need to do that? That's not a rule. That's never been a rule. I would know; us Careers memorize every rule of the Hunger Games, few as they may be.

As a hovercraft lifts away Cato's body, Katniss and Peeta wait expectantly to be announced victors. I cringe inside, waiting for the words that will send me over the edge. But…they don't come.

What's taking so long? Why isn't Claudius Templesmith announcing their victory? For the first time in hours and hours I look at the people around me, seeing my own confusion in Sir's eyes, and in Silk's, and in Queen's.

Then I hear the arena sound system crackle on. I cringe, and prepare to hear the only words I can imagine hearing.

I'm so expecting to hear Everdeen win that I only process one small part of the announcement, but it's enough. Only one person can win the Hunger Games; either Katniss or Peeta must die.


	12. In Which I Lose My Mind

**A/N**- It's very, very late, I know. I will make no excuses, simply apologize sincerely. I'm so sorry. Also, great thanks to Laeve for betaing this for me.

_One of them is going to die._

For a moment I can't believe it. I've been saved. Just when I thought revenge had slipped through my fingers once and for all, justice is going to be dealt. My family's cries screech while someone's high, cruel laugh lances through my eardrums, but I don't hear them. I barely even notice it as Silk claps me hard on the shoulder and the winces, rubbing her arm. Right now it's just Everdeen and me.

I lean forward, refusing even to blink. I'm not going to miss a second of this. It's finally time for the girl who killed my sister to suffer the way she deserved.

"_About time," _I hear over my shoulder. My head whips around. I could have sworn I heard Glimmer's voice, but that's impossible. Slowly I turn back to the television, fingers digging into the stained couch.

"_You're twitchy, kid," _I hear. I stiffen. It's definitely Glims, but she's dead. Which means I'm going crazy.

I look slowly to the side, afraid that I'll see her standing there. Which would have been the best thing that could happen to me if she wasn't really dead. But she is, and if I see her there it means I'm probably farther gone than I realized. As I look to the left she's not there. Okay, her voice was coming from the left, so she would be standing there if she were going to appear. I may be hearing things, but I'm not seeing things. Well, yet.

I guess it's hard to be surprised, really. I knew this was coming. I thought Katniss Everdeen getting what she deserved would save me, but apparently it was too late. Somehow, I don't care as much as I thought it would. A queasy sense of dread has settled into the lining of my stomach, but it's overshadowed by the savage satisfaction of the tortured expression on Katniss' face as Peeta's knife lands in the water. The way she drops her bow only to have him shove it into her arms knocks away any fear of insanity. Am I crazy? Then let me be crazy, just so long as I can see Everdeen suffer.

"_What are you, Lightning?" _I hear. It's Glimmer's voice again, but at the same time not her voice.

"_You're a hypocrite. You think you've turned your back on the Hunger Games, but look at you! I asked for this, she didn't; and now I'm dead and you blame her."_

I glare at the empty air over my shoulder. She's there, she's right there. Or whatever weak lie is pretending to be her is there, because Glimmer would never say that. Glimmer had such a sense of honor connected to the Games… she wouldn't criticize them.

"_Shut up,"_ I hiss back with my mind.

"_Make me, you sad little boy," _the voice hisses into my ear. Can you punch voices in your head? I don't think so.

The whisper comes again, once again soft and soothing, trying to seduce my mind away from me once and for all, "_Why don't you just give in? Everdeen's more than you'll ever be. But maybe if you change now, you can be like her. You can bring these Games down from the inside out. If you don't, you know how you'll end up: you'll be like me, just one more failure in a dying society."_I resist the urge to clap my hands over my ears.

"_You're not my sister, you're not my sister, you're not my sister," _I chant.

Everdeen and Mellark are arguing about which one of them gets to die for the other. If I weren't arguing with a voice no one else could hear, I would have laughed. It was just too perfect.

"_Oh, but I am your sister!" _coos the voice. "_Even if she never realized it. Your sister was just as weak and worthless as you are."_

"Shut up," I hiss. Silk looks at me sideways.

"What?" she asks, an eyebrow raised.

"N- nothing," I mutter. She stares at me for another moment before slowly looking back towards the TV.

As soon as her eyes are on the screen, the voice is back.

"_Come on, Lightning," _it coaxes. "_You only have two choices here, you know. Either you grow up and get over it, or you're going to end up dead and forgotten."_ It chuckles,_ "Or insane. Let Everdeen be, you could be great if you gave up this silly vendetta."_

I almost laugh. I don't know what "great" things the voice expects from a half-crazy, disillusioned, violent ex-Career. I remind myself that the voice is just trying to confuse me, drive me insane. Just ignore it, Lightning. Just ignore it.

Mellark has pulled off the tourniquet. Everdeen falls to her knees with a cry, trying to tie it back on.

"_Come on," _it snorts derisively. "_You can't ignore me, I'm part of you. I'm your sister. I'm your conscience. I'm with you everywhere."_

"Shut _up_!" I growl more loudly. Silkiness shakes my arm, a concerned expression on her face.

"Lightning? Are you alright?" she asks, trying to get me to look her in the eyes.

"Fine, I'm fine," I croak, trying to shrug her off.

"Are you sure, because you look like sh-" Silk begins, but before she can finish our attention is stolen by the screen.

Katniss and Peeta are holding the nightlock up, the camera zooming in on it. They're the exact same berries that killed Haddock Akaine, and the two fools are about to swallow them.

"One," she says, her voice low.

"_Well, you're getting what you wanted," _hisses the voice. "_And you're going to be damned when the world changes. People like you - everyone knows you don't deserve to be alive."_

"Two," she continues. Peeta's eyes are pained, but he only clutches her hand and breathes deeply, a new and shiny red spreading up the leg of his pants.

"Get out of my head," I say viciously, adrenaline lighting my body on fire. "Get out!" Silk looks at me again, about to say something, but she's interrupted.

"Three!" They down the berries. I expect some insult from the voice; some sound of either victory or my predicted demise by my own hatred, or in disappointment it couldn't change me. But all I get is a low chuckle.

But- but- what? What? Claudius Templesmith is begging them to spit out the berries. He's announcing the victors. Not the victor, the victors.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

My family screams. I've never heard them shout so loudly, which is saying quite a bit. They can scream. Especially Illy, although I must admit hers sounds louder than it actually is because her voice is so high.

They collapse, spitting out the berries, crawling to the lake to suck up water, coughing it out to clean their mouths. I sit, frozen. The rest of my family is shouting obscenities at the screen. I can't make myself shout or even move. This can't be real.

Everdeen and Mellark stumble onto the ladder, frozen by the current. The television cuts to commercial.

"Well, that sucks," Glimmer says. Her wavy blond hair falls over my shoulder, and I can feel it as it brushes my cheek.

Her hand on my shoulder has weight. She's right there.

Ever so calmly, I stand. Everybody's too angry to notice me as I slowly pick up the heavy popcorn bowl and throw it as hard as I can at the TV. Cracks spread across the screen of our cheap television. I'm out the door almost before anyone else can react, but I can hear a lot of angry cursing. My father's going to beat me and make me pay for a new TV, apparently. Yeah, yeah, I expected as much.

I think someone's chasing after me. The rushing in my ears is almost deafening; but I think I hear footsteps pounding after mine, and I definitely hear someone shouting. But then again, most of District 1 is going to be screaming that the Gamemakers changed the rules for those District 12 rats.

"I bet it's Silk, or maybe Illy. I don't think anybody else cares enough about you to even bother trying to follow you," Glimmer muses from where she leans against a street light.

I turn abruptly, not caring where I'm going, just trying to get away from the thing in my head pretending to be my sister.

I wonder what the people who live on this street are thinking. I'm pretty sure I'd be both a little afraid of me, and more than a little tempted to laugh. I probably look pathetic, after all. As bad as I probably look outside, it can't be anything compared to being in my head right now. Really, I'm surprised the voice has the willpower to stick around. Even I want out of my mind at the moment.

"I warned you, you know," Not-Glimmer calls, easily keeping pace with me. "I knew this would happen."

"Shut up! No, you didn't!" I bellow.

"You're weak, Lightning. You're so weak," she coos, fingers brushing my hair. I flinch, almost tripping over my own feet. I jerk away and run off in another direction.

Suddenly she's in front of me, laughing. I screech to a stop, trying not to run straight into (or through) her. Whoever it is that's following me takes advantage of my brief stop to grab a hold of my wrist. Well, it's definitely Silk; too strong to be Illy.

"Lightning, stop! What is g-" she begins, but I reel back and hit her.

I'm not going to stay here with the Glimmer-thing laughing in my ears, but I don't think Silk plans on letting me run anymore. So, she has to let go. She lets go with a curse, hands reflexively going for her nose, which is already beginning to bleed. Before she can get her wits about her, I take off again.

"Lightning!" she bellows.

I can tell she's winded, which is unusual for her. I've always been stronger, what with being a boy and all, but Silk was usually a better long-distance runner. I guess the training sessions she's missed have hurt her performance more than I would have thought. But I can hear her feet as they hit the ground. She's coming now.

"Lightning!" she screams again.

"Lightning," Glimmer whispers in my ear. I claw the air over my shoulder, stumbling. They go on like that, Silk begging me to slow down, Glimmer trying to get me to… I don't really know what it is she wants. But I know that I just need to keep running. Keep running. Keep running. Keep-

I'm jerked back as Silk's fingers claw their way around my wrist. I lose my balance and fall awkwardly, skinning my elbow and jamming my finger. My training kicks in, though, and I roll with the fall, taking Silk down with me.

"Shit, Lightning!" she exclaims.

I wonder through a haze why _she's_ the one complaining. I mean, she fell on top of me. _I'm _the one who got squished and knocked down onto the concrete. Silk struggles to her feet, tripping over one of my legs as she stands. She glares at me, but I don't really care. Glimmer's caught up to me again and is leaning down next to my ear, whispering a lot of things I try to ignore. I clamp my hands over my ears, but her voice switches into my head.

"_You're just an animal, you know. All of you, you're all going to die. You-"_

"Stop it!" I scream. Silk grabs a hold of my wrists, fighting to pull my hands away from my ears.

"Come on, Lightning! What's the matter with you?" she shouts.

I want to answer her, I do, but Glimmer has started screaming into my ears. I can't think, let alone carry on a conversation. Besides even if I did, Silk would just think I was crazy. Even though I am, I don't relish the idea of her knowing.

"Lightning, please! Come on, please!" she begs.

"_I wonder how long she'll make it," _Glimmer hisses. "_Longer than me, I bet. She's smarter than I was. But you know what? She's just a killer, just one of the Capitol's lapdog machines. Just like you."_

"Come on, Lightning," Silk whispers. She's stopped shaking my wrists, and I could probably pull my hands away if I wanted to, but my mind is still too hazed by Glimmer's constant whispers.

"Lightning… what's wrong? Please, I don't understand. What's wrong with you?" she murmurs, voice breaking.

Before I really know it, she's crying. It's enough to distract me from Glimmer's voice in my ear. I mean, I've seen Silk cry before. We've trained together for years, and both of us have had our share of broken bones and all, but I've never seen her cry like this. Her face is buried in her knees, while her arms wrap around her legs. She rocks back and forth, sobbing quietly. This isn't dammit-that-hurt crying, this is vulnerable crying. Silk doesn't cry like his.

"H-hey," I whisper, my voice a croak too quiet for me to hear over Glimmer shouting. "Silk, what…" This seems backwards to me. I'm the crazy one. Why am _I_ comforting _her_?

"I'm scared. I'm so scared," she whispers, not looking up from her knees.

"Scared of what?" I ask.

Silk tries to answer, but a louder sob wracks her body and she just pulls into herself more tightly. I struggle into a sitting position, no longer curled up on the ground. Glimmer is going on into my ear, but I do my best to ignore her. I grab a hold of Silk's shoulder, and she inches a little closer, burying her face in my arm. I sit in silent confusion, listening to the strongest person I know break down in the middle of the street, and my dead sister insult me. People are beginning to stare at us. I guess we do look a little odd.

"C'mon, Silkiness," I mutter to her eventually. "We probably ought to be getting back."

She sniffs, rubbing at her nose, "G-good luck finding our way back. Damned if I know where you led us."

"Sorry 'bout that," I say.

"_There's a lot more you should be sorry about," _Glimmer says, hands on her hips.

"Oh, shut up," I sigh with resignation. To my surprise she does. Silk looks at me. "Oh, not you," I say. "I was just… you know what? Never mind. I'm- I'm fine."

It's a lie, of course. I'm anything but fine. But for now I'll have to act it.

"Okay," she mutters. "Let's just get directions. See if anybody knows how to get to the 4th Street bus stop. We can find our way back from there."

"Alright," I say, putting my arm over her shoulder. "Let's just hope we can find somebody willing to give the crazy kids directions."

Silk smiles, but it's sort of a hollow smile. I have a feeling that, at least for a while, most of the smiles from here on out will be.


	13. In Which I Recieve a Most Confusing Kiss

**A/N**- Sorry about the wait; I've been having trouble finding a beta. Would any of my readers be able to help? Anyway, I had to prrofread it myself (which is not one of my strengths) so I apologize for my inevitable up-fudges.

I pretend to watch the interviews, but I can't stomach even a minute of it. Not to mention it's like standing on the roof and shouting, "Hey Glimmer! Come and torture me! You know you want to!" No, it's better for everyone that I don't watch Everdeen and Mellark cooing over each other. I wouldn't want to break the Harkmers' TV, too.

Really, I was surprised the Silk's folks let us go over to their house to watch. They don't like us very much. Then again, they don't like anybody, including each other and Silk. I don't know what possessed them to get married in the first place. Maybe they figured they could save more money for beer if they were both paying for rent or something, and then got pressured into marrying. That would explain a lot.

"Silk! Get me another beer!" Her mother shouts. Silk's mom is grotesque. I don't know how she ever got so fat, or how her hair is always so greasy. Really, it defies understanding.

"Yes, mom," she grumbles, standing. I jump up. "I'll come." Silkiness smiles faintly. She knows how much I hate watching this, that I'm not just coming with her because I love her company. I do, of course, but really my prime concern is getting where I don't have to listen to Everdeen's self-conscious stuttering. We wander through the short hallway to the kitchen, looking at the grimy walls like fine art is decorating them instead of stains, trying to delay our return to the television set. Even the interviews are required viewing, but if the peacekeepers decided to make a routine raid to be sure we were all tuning in, a couple of kids fetching a beer for their parents wouldn't really matter, since they'd assume we were coming right back. They wouldn't care. They'd probably send _their _kids to get _them _beers, if they had any.

We finally reach the kitchen. The Harkmers' house is a lot smaller than ours, with the kitchen barely holding the fridge, stove, and a small table with two chairs. I've never liked Silkiness's house much at all, but the kitchen really does it for me. The only times in my life I've ever had attacks of claustrophobia were all in this room. That includes all of the training exercises I've ever done, some of which are _designed _to induced claustrophobia, so you can get used to working around it.

I perch on the table. We're not supposed to, which is exactly why I'm doing it. We really can't hit our parents back because they're bigger than us and would probably whup our asses, but that doesn't mean we can't still take childish joy in flaunting smaller rules. Like spitting in their beer, which is Silk's favorite. It's our little ritual, at her house anyway. My parents usually get their own beer, or get beer for each other.

Silk pulls a brown bottle out of the junky old fridge, wrinkling her nose at the smell. It's nasty, but I doubt they'll be able to get it replaced anytime soon. Fridges are ridiculously expensive. They're actually rising in price, too. That could be either the Capitol's fault or District 3's, so I've decided to just hold it against the both of them for now. That's fair, right?

Silk shuts the door and puts the beer down on the counter, still dragging her feet. I pick at my nails. The silence starts to become awkward, so I try to think of something to say. "Why haven't you been at training lately?" I ask her. The muscles in Silk's shoulders tighten a little. Someone who didn't know her very well would have missed it, but I do know her, and I've learned it helps to watch her body language when she acts clammy, which she has been lately. I know those muscles mean that she doesn't want to talk about this.

"Haven't much wanted to come," she says blandly. "I've got about as much as I need to get from the training center, I think." I stare at her.

"You have a death wish you forgot to tell me about?" I ask incredulously. "You know that's stupid. If you don't keep working on it, you'll be in terrible shape when you finally volunteer. Everybody knows that! I mean, if you _want _to die painfully, then I-"

"Lightning, don't," she hisses. I feel a sick feeling of anger beginning to stew in my stomach. It's not exactly a horrible insult, but at the same time, I'm really not in the best shape at the moment, and it's enough to set me off.

"Don't what? Don't worry that my best friend seems to be trying to kill herself? Don't worry that she wants to volunteer for a blood sport? Don't worry that I might be- never mind," I stutter.

"Might be what?" She asks mockingly.

"Shut up!" I snap.

"Make me, Radican," she growls, slamming the beer onto the table so hard that I'm afraid for a moment it might break, but it's fine. _Make me_. Maybe she meant it just as a stock comeback, but I take her very seriously. I wish I could. My mouth works for a moment. How am I supposed to make her? How can I get her to understand what these Games do to people? Not just the people that are pathetic enough to die in them, but to me? To her? To our families? How am I supposed to make her understand?

"You don't even get it, do you?" I snap, finally. "You don't understand that _people die. _Do you get that now? _People die_. People who didn't want this, didn't deserve this!"

"Everybody dies, _Lightbulb_," she growls, and the mocking use of my nickname is like a slap across the face. "If twenty-three kids have to die, we might as well try to give ours the best chance of coming home."

I'm almost knocked over backwards. "D-do… do you _really _think that's what Career training is about? Do you think my parents gave a damn about whether or not they got Glimmer back? Do you think yours do?" She winces. "No, they don't! You're nothing to them! All they want is a victor's pensions to bum off of until the end of their pathetic little lives are over and they rot in their graves like they deserve. _They don't give a fuck whether you live or die._

"But, hey. At least you get to have your money, right? Your fame? Your own little justified killing spree. And that's all it is. It's all selfishness," I shout. Silkiness opens her mouth to retort, but I cut her off. "Don't try to pretend it isn't, Harkmer. When's the last time a Career actually gave a thought to the kid whose life they saved? Right about never."

I can see tears pricking at the back of her eyes, but these are Silk tears. They're angry tears. Fighting tears. Not those defeated tears of last week.

"Lightning, do you not understand what this is to me, to so many of us at the training center? It's my only chance! You think I could do anything else in District 1? I don't want to end up like my parents, living in the slums and trying to get by on odd jobs. Do you ever wonder why the rich kids never train anymore? Because they've figured out it could kill them. The kids here- we don't _want _this! We don't have any other choice. I'm not like you. I'm not smart enough to do anything else. I-"

I bark with laughter. "Do you _really _believe that? Are you _that_ brainwashed? I'm not smart. I'm just as doomed as the rest of you. I'm failing all my classes. Just because I know a few words that are longer than two syllables doesn't mean I have enough money to go to school any longer. It doesn't mean I'm going to end up any better than the rest of you!"

"Yes it does!" She insists angrily. "You're… different, Lightning!"

"How? How am I any different?" I challenge.

"Who else would challenge the Games like you have?" She says, pointing an angry finger across the table.

"I haven't challenged anything," I laugh, breathy. "I'm not volunteering. That's it. Lots of people have decided not to volunteer, or just never qualified. It's not exactly earth shattering, Silkiness."

"But you are!" She protests. I hear talking break out in the living room, implying that the interviews have come to a close. I bet they more or less ignored our arguing, although I'm sure they could hear it. The interviews are boring enough that nobody cares if there's some background noise coming from the kitchen. Although I'm glad we weren't any louder, because if they could hear what we were saying, they would care. "The way you… the way you see things- it's just- it's so different. You- you just," she continues, looking frustrated, like she can't quite get the words to come out the way she wants them to. She stops, slamming a fist against the table in frustration.

I'm not sure which one of us kisses the other, but the next thing I feel are her lips. But it just doesn't feel… right. All of it- her fingers digging into my back, my own looping her hair a little more forcefully than I probably should around my hands –it's all too hard. Too angry. It's just another expression of emotion, not so different from the shouting we were doing a moment before. But then again, I guess love and hate aren't really so different in the first place. They're both strong. They both drive you to do some pretty crazy things. Just in different ways. Hate's not the opposite of love, it's more like love's dirty, beaten, world-weary twin brother.

Silk bites down hard on my lip. I guess it's an instinctual response for a Career; high emotion generally means it's time to react with violence. The salty taste of my own blood is twice as metallic as it should be, although somehow I have the feeling it's more to do with the bitter feeling of finality that's leaking up my throat. Silk's too angry. She can't hold herself back, even to avoid hurting me. I'll never be able to change her.

Suddenly I'm slammed against the fridge, my shoulder blades cracking painfully against the off-white plastic. I can barely make out Silkiness' words thanks to the pounding of blood in my ears, but I can hear well enough to understand what she's saying. Get out. Get out of her house. I'm only too willing to oblige.

I pound down the hall, Silk screeching at my heels. Now our families are complaining. We're too loud, apparently. I barrel out the front door, shoving one or another of my siblings down as I go. I hear somebody call my name, but I don't stop. I don't slow down as I hear Silk's mother shout at her, probably angry that she's forgotten her beer. I don't slow down as I hear what sounds like something being thrown. She wouldn't want me to, at the moment.

I'm on autopilot, crying angrily, far too confused to form a coherent thought, so my feet switch into autopilot. Luckily for me, the route I take most often from Silk's house is the walk home, so I end up at my front door without even realizing it. I paw around under the bush next to the house for the spare key and fumble around with it for a minute before I get it to go into the lock.

I slam the door and sink to the ground, grinding my knuckles against my eyes. What am I supposed to do? Silk's always been my anchor, even before I lost-

"Yup, you really fucked things up back there, little bro. Guess I should have spent more time teaching you how to talk to girls," Glimmer intones with a sigh, leaning against the kitchen door. I moan. That's the last thing I need right now. She looks at me, sizing me up. "What you going to do, kid? How you planning on fixing this one?"

"I- I don't know," I mutter, burying my face in my arms.

"Well. How predicable. You're giving up. Oh well, I guess I can't blame you. Most people would have given up a while ago. But there's still time. You could probably go drown yourself before our family gets back."

"Shut up!" I roar, exploding to my feet. I kick the door hard, which hurts my foot and really doesn't accomplish much, but still makes me feel a little better.

"Kidding, kidding," Glimmer says, putting up her hands defensively. "Your sense of humor has really suffered over the last couple of weeks."

Really? Has it only been a few weeks? I guess it has, but it feels like it's been months at least. Exhaustion slams against me again and I lean my forehead against the door. I hear Glimmer walk from the kitchen door and lay her hand on my shoulder. "Look. Obviously you need to go get some rest. So… go. Get some sleep. You can work it out tomorrow morning."

I nod silently, almost past caring this is either the ghost of my sister or an insanity-induced hallucination that's playing nurse right now. Getting some sleep just sounds so good. I limp slowly down the hall, Glimmer humming gently and playing with my hair. I can't feel it. I couldn't feel her hand on my shoulder, either. Maybe that's a good sign. Maybe I'm not too far-gone yet.

I collapse on my cot, not caring what my family will think. I can worry about that when I'm not so tired. Not quite so…


	14. In Which There Is a Funeral

I don't like my dress clothes any more now than at the last reaping. Of course, last time I hated them because getting dressed up might mean a goodbye to Glimmer. I was afraid my sister wasn't going to be coming back. Now, I know she isn't. Not only that, but someone who never really left is gone too.

Illy stands sniffling at my shoulder while Richie shifts awkwardly next to me. He doesn't really want to be here, I know. He'd rather be at the training center, punching and swearing with his private instructor. Sir actually managed to sweet talk an old victor into training him _for free_. "When you've won, what other glory can you claim?" he'd asked. He said that not only winning, but making sure that District 1 kept having winners was the way that old Carbonation could claim glory.

If Sir spoke that nicely to all of us kids, we might not hate his guts so much.

Richie came because Illusion begged him to. He might have been practically a Career prodigy for almost killing someone at age nine, but he had a soft spot for his big sister. Well, his littlest big sister. He liked Queen about as much as I did.

Sir came along because he didn't "trust you to behave yourself in public, you little punk". Which was probably a good call on his part, now that I think about it.

Funerals in District 1 are pretty quick. It's a big District, but our cemeteries were too small; especially since mortality rates had been rising steadily since the Great Insurgence. We ran out of space for coffins decades ago. Now, all bodies have to be cremated. It's a law. Only victors get to be buried in the small plot next to Victors' Village. However, most of the basic steps are still followed. You meet, say a few words, maybe a prayer if you feel like it. The deceased are dressed in their finest, all cleaned up. Then they are cremated, although nobody likes to stick around and watch that.

"How long is this thing supposed to take?" Sir growled. I clench my fists.

"I don't know," I answer through gritted teeth, adding "you big asshole" under my breath for my own benefit. Sir just grunts and goes back to scowling at nothing in particular.

"…and we will never forget her smile, her determination. And-"

I dig my fingernails into my pants. That liar. Since when did he care? He didn't. I cared about her more than he did, and she wasn't _my _daughter. But I guess this is the way things are in Career families like ours. The kids are disposable. All we are is a shot at getting rich, like rolling the dice in some back alley, seeing if you can get lucky with your spare change.

I've thought so much about my own family. Complained so much. And I _have _had a hard time of it; that's hard to deny. But it's not just me. All around there are people feeling the same thing. I'm not the only person in the world and I guess you could say it's high time I learned that.

I've been selfish. But he's ten times worse. A million times worse. He's- I can't even think if a number for how bad he is. How much I hate him. Silk dies, and all he does is throw on the crocodile tears, playing his neighbors' sympathies for some free food and beer. And I bet he's the one that killed her.

It wasn't hard to see that Silk didn't just get run over by the bus the way they said she did. Anyone with any experience with fighting can tell she's been beaten up. And she's in bad shape. They tried to fix her up all pretty for the funeral, but it didn't work. Her lip is split and it still looks red and raw. Bruises line her neck and she's got a bad black eye. A long cut spans her forehead from her temple to the far end of her eyebrow. The sleeveless dress they'd dressed her up in shows off the mostly-faded bruises and scars over her arms. Silkiness' parents didn't just beat her- they beat her to death.

It must have started just as I ran out. Maybe that crashing noise was Silk getting angry, throwing something at the wall. Maybe the shouting was her angry parents cussing her off. When that angry, Silk wouldn't have held back. She'd have gone off on them, maybe hitting them. Silk's parents might never have been Careers-in-training like mine were, but there aren't many people in the District 1 slums who don't know how to throw a punch. It looks like Mrs. Harkmer took the worst of it, between the two of them. She insists she tripped that day walking down the stairs at work. That's a lie. She's unemployed.

Yes, it's pretty damned obvious that Silk's parents are lying about everything that happened three days ago; to me anyway. But I highly doubt the Peacekeepers who registered Silk as dead in the Capitol archive even bothered to check any of the facts. Why should they? She was just a District rat.

"…the day we lost our daughter," Mr. Harkmer says, pretending to be very choked up.

_You mean the day you murdered her._

"We will never forget her, and…"

_Yes, you will. You'll probably go straight home from the funeral, pop on the TV, and not think about her again until some other idiot brings you a care package._

"…that someone so young and full of potential would be taken- it- it just… I can't describe it."

_I can. It involves a lot of four letter words and your head on a spit. "Young and full of potential", my ass. You brainwashed her. But she still had more potential than you ever will, you little bastard._

"I- I'm sorry," he gasps, pretending to be shaken by sobs. "I… I need a minute." He turns and embraces Mrs. Harkmer, shoulders shaking like he's crying his heart out over his darling deceased daughter, and I can't stand it. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch.

"I-" He turns and begins, but I don't wait for him to finish. I lunge at him. I punch him in the nose, although his doesn't break like Camisole's did. Too bad.

"Ah! What the fu-" I break off his curse by grabbing his throat and throttling him for all I'm worth. Somebody screams. I'm pretty sure having a funeral-goer suddenly go insane and attack the father of the deceased was the last thing they expected to happen today.

I feel Sir grab my arms, pulling me off Mr. Harkmer. "Damn it! I knew you'd do something like this, you idiot!" he shouts.

"Shut up!" I scream back. "You're just like he is, you dirty-"

Sir pushes me backwards and I lose my balance. I fall to the ground, cracking my head against the table holding Silk's body. Mr. Harkmer has been pulled into the ranks of the idiots who support him, who've bought into his act beautifully. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. They're never going to see, are they? No one will listen to me. I'm just the crazy kid attacking a parent at the worst time of their lives. Assuming they don't already know and just honestly don't care that he murdered his own daughter in cold blood. I don't know which idea is worse.

I stand slowly, trying to salvage the last of my restraint and self-respect. Everyone's eyes bore into me and even Illusion looks at me with confusion, thrown off by my violent outburst.

"I hope that when you die you burn in Hell," I whisper. I know that eternal damnation is a disgusting thing to wish on someone, anyone, but it's true. I don't think there's anyone I hate more than Silk's father right now. Except maybe me. I know it's stupid, but I can't help blaming myself. It was our fight that got her all worked up, our fight that got her in trouble with her parents.

I rub my hands off on my pants, meeting everyone's eyes once before turning and leaving slowly.

I really don't know what I'm going to do anymore. It seems like everything I do only hurts me or someone else even more. I should just disappear. At least then I wouldn't be able to fuck anything else up.

"Lightning?" I hear eventually. I rub my eyes free from tears to see Illy following me sheepishly. I hadn't even noticed she'd been following me. "Are- are you…"

She doesn't say "alright" because she knows I'm not. I shake my head.

"No, Illy. I wish I could lie to you and say that I was, but…" I don't bother to finish. There's only so much a person can take at once and I'm approaching the end of that rope. I've lost my two best friends, Glimmer and Silkiness, in the span of a month. I've had my entire upbringing pulled out from under my feet. I realize that the bloodlust I've been trained to feel might not be such a problem anymore. At the moment I doubt my ability to feel such strong emotions.

Illy wraps both of her thin arms around one of mine and buries her face in the itchy fabric of my dress jacket. I put my other hand on her head and we stand there like that for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. After a while I murmur, "Come on," and swing her up to ride piggyback on the walk home.

The sky is a thin sort of blue, like the weather is feeling as apathetic and defeated as I am. I wish I could think of something to say to Illy, to make her laugh or feel like maybe things won't be so bad. But they will. Clearly my life will only ever keep getting worse. At this rate, by next Friday it'll be too much to deal with and I'll have to suffer an unfortunate training accident involving my chest and a rather misaimed knife.

I realize with a slight shock that I'm not really joking to myself about suicide. At this point it doesn't seem so far off. I shove it to the back of my mind. I'm not there yet. Close maybe, but not quite close enough to start making plans.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" I hear from behind me. I turn my head to see Glimmer strolling along beside me, dressed for the occasion in her favorite green dress. Her reaping dress. I look forward and try to ignore her.

"That's not very nice, Lightning," she scolds. She's acting a little more like Glimmer with her deadpan snark, but she's rather quiet. I guess funerals when the murderer gets to play the victim tend to have that effect on people. Even people who are figments of my imagination. _Especially _people who are figments of my imagination; since my imagination is about as pleased about this as the rest of me.

_Just go away, Glimmer. I really doubt there's anything you can do to me that could possibly make me feel any worse, _I think at her, afraid to address her out loud again. Illy might misconstrue that. Or think it is exactly what it is, which is that her older brother has lost his mind. Either way, there's no good that can come out of talking to myself.

"You might be right, kid," she says. "I really don't have anything left to say to you. There isn't a lot left I can do to break you. No, I'll let the real world handle that," she says, slapping me once on the back. Then all of a sudden she's gone. I have the feeling it's for good, and that that's not as good of a thing as you might guess. Glimmer is gone not because I've beaten her, but because she doesn't want to stick around for whatever is coming.

Joy.

I push the front door open. Ma'am is eating a banana on the couch, and when she sees me she waves a slip of paper at me.

"This came for you today," she says around a mouthful of fruit. "It's a bill for the first payment for Camisole's nose repair job. You're gonna be damn broke before this is over, kid."

I take the paper, look it over once, and drop it. This is the last straw. I turn and walk out the door, no expression on my face.

"L- Lightning?" Illy asks, worried. "What are you…"

But I don't respond, as the door swings shut, cutting of the last part of her sentence. What am I doing? Something damned stupid. But what have I got to lose? Silk's death has pushed me finally and completely over the edge. I march toward the training center, hardly thinking about what I'm going to do, because it's so simple.

I will waltz in there like nobody's business. I will stand up on the raised wrestling mat, the highest part of the main floor, and I will denounce the Hunger Games for everyone to hear. Yes, they'll probably send me to the Reform. Yes, I will probably be completely destroyed, beyond all repair. No, I really can't find it in me to care. As long as I have the slightest hope that there are more kids like me - kids who are too afraid of their parents and their trainers to bow out - I have to do this. If I don't, how many more will end up like Silkiness, dead because no one told them they had another choice until it was too late? Until they were sucked into violence they would never be able to leave behind? Until they went a little too far and it got them killed? If I can help it, none.


	15. In Which I Deliver a Speech

The familiar streets are a blur in the back of my mind. I can barely think straight. Maybe now is not the absolute best time to be making a life-changing decision like flying in the face of the entire District 1 Career subculture. But then again, maybe it's the best time. The only time. Maybe I wouldn't have the guts to do this if I weren't mostly insane right now. If Silk hadn't…

Oh, Silk. Damn. What am I going to do? Whether or not anyone actually listens to me, I'm done. I don't think I'll ever heal up after this one. Glims, Silk… It's all too much, too soon.

What am I supposed to do? No one else will help me. Well, no one else can. The kids at the training center aren't really my friends, I don't think. Illy and Richie are too young. Queen and Fame… well, that's not even worth considering. And goodness knows telling my parents would land me in the same boat as Silk.

Silkiness. What was she to me? I don't even know anymore. Maybe that's the worse part. I'm not just alone now, but I don't even really have the past anymore. I don't have much of anything anymore. Maybe I'll be happier once I've been either Reformed or beaten to death. I don't know. It can hardly hurt at this point.

I stumble through the doors of the training center. It's busy again already. Everyone's forgotten Glimmer and Marvel, and probably never even gave Silk's death a second thought. It's all about next year's Games. But is it really?

I think I feel forced undertones. Maybe I'm just imagining it. I wouldn't put it past me, at the moment. There's a good chance that I've finally gone completely crazy under the stress. Maybe I've already been locked up in a run-down madhouse somewhere, and I'm only imagining being in the training center.

Oh, I hope not. That just wouldn't be fair. To let me believe that I was finally doing something right with the tattered remains of my life, but have me be just dreaming the whole time… it's not possible that such cruelty could exist. It couldn't come from God, from the universe, from pure luck. I refuse to believe it. But then again, I guess that's madness, too. Of course bad luck could be that cruel, because… well, it's just luck. But I still push the thought to the back of my head. It's not even worth considering, because if it is then my life is already over and I have no reason to go on. Which is never good.

Someone calls out to me. I bet I don't look much better than I feel, floundering through the doors like I've been half-gutted by an ally I thought I could trust and my attackers on my heels.

Of course, a Hunger Games metaphor. I guess I can't really expect much else. I'm a Career, if not actively, then in upbringing.

Someone lays a hand on my shoulder. I think it must be a girl, because most of the guys at the Training Center are so puffed up with their own bravado and perceived manliness that they wouldn't do something sentimental like put a hand on someone's shoulder when they look like they're hurting.

I shrug the hand off, swinging my head back and forth rabidly, trying to find the best vantage point. Where will the most people see me and hear me? Maybe from the second-floor balcony, but I'd feel exposed standing there. I want to be closer to the ground, but high enough that I'm easily visible. So… the raised wrestling ring. I sprint towards it. It's really not very far away, but the room is spinning and I can barely keep my balance, much less walk straight. At least by crashing into people the way I am I'm garnering attention even before I make my speech. Of course, the attention I'm getting at the moment is mostly from people looking at me like I'm crazy, an idiot, or both; so, it's probably not a good thing after all.

I finally reach the platform. There's no one on it at the moment, which is lucky. Usually I would have had to push at least two wrestlers off. I don't really know if I could, at this point. I'm in bad physical state, off-balance and shaky, and Careers are not easy to move when they don't want to go anywhere.

There are already quite a few people glaring at me in confusion or annoyance after my mad dash to the stage, but I want everyone's eyes. In a moment. I'm not ready yet. I straighten up, trying to make my wide stance look less like I'm trying not to fall over and more like I'm confident and strong. Like I own this place. After a moment I take a deep breath.

"Hey!" I bark. A few more people turn to face me. Not good enough. I wish I'd stolen one of the pellet guns or something. But then again, if I had I probably wouldn't have even managed to reach the boxing ring. Despite the fact that a gun has only ever been included in the cornucopia twice in the history of the Hunger Games, it's still a dream shared by most Careers to learn how to use the Training Center guns. It's a status symbol more than anything. However, the guns are guarded very, _very _heavily. It wouldn't have been worth the risk.

"Hey!" I shout again, louder. By now I have the attention of enough people that those who haven't really noticed me yet are at least drifting over to find out what that big group of people is doing over by the wrestling ring. Good, I guess. Except now I realize I have no idea what to say. I swallow hard.

I will get only one shot at this. One shot to try to patch up the damage to my sister, to my best friend, to me. As soon as the trainers realize what I'm doing I will be dragged off and I will be... in no fit state to give rousing speeches. So, what do I say to them? How can I make them see that they're not just preparing themselves for honor and glory; they're enabling the murder of their friends and siblings? I'm suddenly struck by the fact that I don't know if I can. The only reason I ever opened my eyes was the fact that I lost Glimmer, someone who mattered an unimaginable amount to me. The only reason I _did _anything about it was because it got my best friend, too. I don't know if there's anything I can say that will recreate that sort of shock. I don't know if there's anything that will make them see, if they need to experience the pain I went through to understand.

I hesitate. This needs to come out right. I _really _should have thought this out better before jumping into it this way. But if I were in a state to think rationally about things, I wouldn't be up here anyway.

"M- my name is Lightning," I begin, wincing a little at the stutter in my voice. I need to get in control. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment. I root myself, trying to be firm and sure of myself. Careers respect strength. I need to be strong.

"My sister, Glimmer, was the female tribute for District 1 this year," I continue. "She was the most important person in the world to me. And now she's dead."

A murmur goes through the crowd. To them, this seems like a pointless thing to say. Who cares if she's dead? Who cares if she mattered to you? She's a loser. A disgrace. They don't look any deeper than that, but they have to! They need to understand.

"Glimmer is dead, and she left a hole behind. I don't think you really realize what that's like until it happens to you, but I want you to imagine it. It would hurt to lose someone so important to you. But they'd have you forget that. They'd have you shove your dead friends to the side and turn your nose up at their memories. And they'd have them do he same to you if you died."

I can see the same confusion misting eyes, but I'm gaining confidence. They're thinking about it. They're considering my words. I can see trainers with wide, angry eyes. I'm reminded with a jolt that I don't have much time. They may be unprepared for something like this, but it won't take them long to get organized.

"For the longest time, I almost didn't even realize people in the Games were dead. It seemed like it really was just a TV show, that the people being slaughtered weren't really my old friends. But the thing is, they are. We're losing people every year and we sit here and we let it happen!

"Can't you see what we're doing? Can't you see the way we're killing ourselves? Open your eyes!" I'm pleading with them now. I can see one of the station attendants slipping behind the crowd, going to alert whoever is in charge.

"If we don't stop this, do you know what's going to happen? Nothing will change. When it's your children, or your sister, or your girlfriend, you're going to forget them the moment they die and just move on. You won't be able to do anything else. Is that what you want? Do you want to forget and die?

"A month ago, I would never have been here. A month ago, I was just like you. And then I lost Glimmer. Now I've lost someone else I… really cared about. It was her parents. They were kids like us years ago, and where did it they end up? They're bums, laying around and fighting. They couldn't even stop themselves from beating their own daughter to death. Is that who you want to be? I know nobody here is thinking 'Yeah, that's going to be me in twenty years,' but the fact is, it _will be_. It's you _now_. Every single one of us here has looked the other way. We've all forgotten. We-"

All of a sudden I feel a thud on the mat behind me. Before I even have a chance to turn around strong hands grab my arms and yank me backwards.

A third trainer steps forward, smiling her bright smile at the crowd of dazed-looking Careers.

"Mr. Radican is… not well," she says pointedly, with a fake, sad smile. "Sorry he bothered you! Return to your activities. We'll take the poor boy back to his family," she smiles at them again, a long-suffering smile. Pitying. _Look at the poor crazy boy. How pathetic, _she says.

And then they do the only thing that could possibly break me any more. They start to laugh.

Laughing. They're laughing. It feels like they've driven a knife into my stomach and are twisting it back and forth. That's it, then. I was wrong. This was all for nothing.

The trainers drag me off the stage. I'm struggling, but it's not really because I'm thinking about it. I want to get away, of course, but more than anything I'm crushed by my failure. No one listened. There's nothing I can do.

But maybe I see one or two people hesitate before turning back to training activities. Maybe that group of girls is laughing too loudly, forced and nervous. Maybe. Maybe I'm imagining it.

The trainers lead me down the hallway to the office. This is it, then. They'll fetch Sir and Ma'am. My parents will give them permission to Reform me, if we can afford the "service" or will take me home and beat me into submission themselves if they can't. Suddenly the panic hits me full on. Either way, my life is going to be destroyed.

They slam me down into a chair, standing over me ominously. The Training Center director watches me silently. I figure someone's already been sent to collect my parents.I really hope Ma'am and Sir don't bring Illy. I don't want her to watch them make this choice.

My chest heaves. My heart pounds in my chest. Slowly, the physical signs of my panic begin to quiet and are replaced with a flame of fear flickering to life inside my stomach. I can't decide what's worse: the animalistic fear of a few minutes ago, or this drawn-out agony. Just when I think I'm going to explode, the door opens. Judging by the look on Sir's face as he stalks in, they've already briefed him on the subject. I shrink down in the chair. I've seen him mad before plenty of times, but this is a different mad. He doesn't look like he's going to hit me. The way he's looking at me, sneering, it's clear he thinks being beaten to death would be too good for me.

"Reform him. We'll find some way to pay for it," he snaps to the director. I stiffen. He says it so offhandedly. It's far too flippant to be sentencing me to brainwashing by torture. He turns to me. "You will _not _disgrace this family like that again, you little bastard," he hisses. He turns on his heel and marches out the door. And that's it. They didn't even bring Ma'am. I'm struck again by how easily they make my choices for me. Life changing choices, ones that should be mine to make.

"Prepare a cell," the director says to the trainers. They nod and turn, marching out of the office and locking us in behind them.

She looks me over critically. She's really not much to look at. Petite, going gray, quiet. Unlike most of the people in the Training Center, the director is here for her management ability and intelligence, not her skill with weapons or her brute strength. I wonder how she stands working here. I can't imagine she's been sucked into the illusion that we Careers are noble warriors. I'm certain she knows we're just a bunch of kids getting ourselves killed.

"You know, Lightning, we could use people like you," she says. I'm snapped from my thoughts.

"People like- what?" I ask in surprise.

"Bravery and intelligence. You could do well here, if you wanted to. I'd really rather not ruin your potential by Reforming you. Kids come out of that more or less mindless. However, I have to be able to tell your parents that your problems have gone away. If you would agree to become an organizer, or teacher, or trainer… but I don't have any illusion you'll take me up on that," she says with a sigh. "No doubt you thought Reform was the only option. Yet you still stood by your commitment. Admirable, very admirable. Also a little foolish, but the point is I can't really expect someone with as much commitment to your beliefs as you have to come over and work with me. You won't, will you?" she asks. She doesn't really sound very hopeful, but more like she's asking anyway because… why not?

It's tempting, but I know she's right just about as soon as she says it. That's not even an option for me. I shake my head silently. She smiles sadly, and goes back to doing some sort of paperwork. A few minutes later the two trainers come in. They hustle me out, down the hall… where is everyone? It was busy here when I left. I suppose they might all be out in the main gym, but that seems unlikely. I guess they want to keep me hidden, because they avoid the gym doors and take me down a back (also deserted) hallway instead. I've never been down this way, and I don't recognize the room they push me into. There's no exercise equipment or weapons, and tables surround by chairs fill the room; so, I figure this is probably the girls' classroom, although I can't for the life of me figure out why they'd bring me here.

One of them holds me in place while the other pushes tables around. Eventually he's cleared a space in the center and peels up the carpet. My eyes widen. Underneath is a small trapdoor. Are they going to beat me in the basement, or something? I didn't know the Training Center even had a basement.

The door's unlocked and I realize "basement" is quite an exaggeration. It's more like hole in the floor, no more than three or four feet high, and only about as wide. The trainer wraps his arms around my shoulders, lifts me off the ground, and shoves me feet-first into the tiny chamber. I offer token resistance, but I know it's pointless. He's bigger and stronger than me. Too soon, the door slams shut above me. My breath catches and I wait.

What now?


	16. In Which My Mind Is Changed

**A/N**- Sorry for the wait! Laptop malfunction. Also, there's a lot of repeating of the pledge in this one. Obviously, it's not necessary to read it through fully every time.

I hold my breath, waiting for whatever it is they're going to do to me to start. I have no idea what happens in Reform, but from what I've heard I won't like it much at all. I assume it'll be painful. Careers are all about pain. Probably scary, too. Maybe they'll give me an injection of that stuff that killed Glimmer, just a large enough dosage to give me nightmares but not enough to kill me. The idea makes my stomach turn. Whatever they do as the primary form of torture I'm sure I'll be given regular beatings and fed little, if anything.

I wait for something to happen, curled in on myself. Slowly, I realize nothing _is _happening. Silence stretches out. I realize that when I listen, the silence is total. I assume those trainers would have left the room by now, but I didn't hear them exit.

"Hello?" I call timidly. "Are… are you going to torture me or… something? Not that I want you to. If you'd rather not, that's f- fine with me."

No one responds. Slowly I sit up. There's enough room for me to sit pretty comfortably, but my head bumps the ceiling pretty much as soon as I stand up. I curse softly and rub the top of my head. I decide to kneel instead of try to stand.

I run my hands over the floor. It's a weird material, and I can't decide if it's metal or plastic. Some special textile made for the Capitol, maybe? One of the Victors might have been able to supply it. It occurs to me that it's possible the room is soundproofed. I've heard about soundproof rooms before, but I've never been in one, so I really don't know anything about them. That would explain the dead silence, though; so, I decide to go with soundproof.

Okay. Soundproof room. And what else?

I paw across the walls one by one. Nothing. The ceiling has a few faint ridges, but I can't figure out what they are. I wonder in frustration why my night vision isn't kicking in. I decide the room is probably lightproof, too.

I drop down to my hands and knees and search the floor. It takes all of three seconds to decide that the surfaces I'm not sitting on are totally bare. Well, then. I sit back slowly; my environment learned as best I can learn it without the use of my eyes. To be honest, it doesn't seem like anything so scary, which only terrifies me the more. If kids who leave the Reform are in such bad shape, this place must have the potential to get pretty wild, and I have no idea how it's going to happen.

The silence hangs in the air. The nerves in my stomach only grow more and more tense. It occurs to me that maybe they drive you insane with the fear of what they're going to do to you, and all the Reform is, is sitting this tiny rooming, panicking; but I push the thought away. I don't think so. That doesn't quite seem like Training Center style. Still, I'm beginning to think that might be the case once I fall asleep, crouched in the box of a room.

When I wake up, it's to sound. Footsteps, actually; and a lot of them. I assume it's the girls coming in for class, and my heart jumps in excitement.

"Hey!" I bellow. "I'm under here! Hey! Get me out!" But nobody stops in their walking or chatting. Oh, right. Soundproofed. Soundproof one way, soundproof the other, apparently. But then... how can I hear them? I stop to really listen to the sounds. They feel off, somehow. At first I think it's just because I supposedly shouldn't be able to hear them, but then I notice they sound a little fuzzy and tinny. So... it's being broadcast into my little prison. How?

I run my hands across the walls, searching for those weird ridges. There was nothing _else _that I could think of that might be making sounds. The rest of it is just walls.

As soon as I find one of them I press my ear up against it. Sure enough, it's some sort of strange speaker. I rock back on my heels before sitting down. Okay. So... they're broadcasting audio of the girls walking into the room.

Why? Because, really, that's not so terrifying. I figure that this must just be the beginning of whatever they're going to do to break me. I curl up, hunch my shoulders, and prepare myself.

It takes the girls a few minutes to calm down, wiggling and squealing the weird way teenage girls do. I think I hear a fight break out, which is less typical of teenage girls, but nothing likely to send me spiraling into the depths of insanity. As they yammer, I think I hear my name mentioned once or twice, and "that crazy kid from yesterday" a lot more often. I can't quite decide whether I'm pleased they're thinking about what I said, or annoyed that I'm going to go down in Career history as "that crazy kid". I can't even quite make out what they think about my actions. They tend to quiet down as soon as my name (or my insanity) comes up.

Eventually a teacher gets them under control. Most of the learning we have to do is actually getting weapons into our hands and using them. Of course, someone still needs to give us information on treating wounds, edible plants, arena medicine, and the like. Of course, it's nobody's favorite part. Most of us find it boring and not really what being a Career us all about. I agree. It certainly isn't what being a Career is all about. It's about blind commitment to murder. Although, I doubt the others would concur on those specifics.

I wonder if I should have accepted the offer to become a teacher. An associate. It would solve my worries for the future. Maybe I could have even covertly converted children away from the Games. But I think I made the right choice. I don't know how well I would fair doing anything else. Not that it makes such a big difference now.

They begin chanting. The familiar pledge that I now realize is brainwashing. It sends chills up my spine. Even worse is the moment when I realize I'm mumbling along without even meaning to. My lips form the words almost involuntarily, and it takes a conscious effort to stop them.

"I will kill without remorse.

"I will bring honor to my District.

"No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer.

"No pain is too great for me to overcome.

"The losers are nothing.

"The Capitol is benevolent.

"We are superior."

I expect them to stop, launching into whatever lesson the teacher will be giving the girls, but there's a short beep and they begin again.

"I will kill without remorse.

"I will bring honor to my District.

"No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer.

"No pain is too great for me to overcome.

"The losers are nothing.

"The Capitol is benevolent.

"We are superior."

Well. That's... odd. I've never heard two said one right after the other like that. Two in a day, sure, but two in a minute? That's certainly odd. Even we Careers aren't so highly brainwashed.

"I will kill without remorse..."

A chill begins to creep up my spine again. I look slowly up from the floor I can't see to the ceiling that I also can't see, but know the girls are standing above. What is going on?

As soon as they finish their third time through, they start again. Soon, patterns begin to emerge. I can hear the faint clearing of a throat after the first line, somebody mumbles a little on the very last words, and certain rhythms of speech become familiar. After about the sixth time though, it's clear that it's a recording.

I sit, listening to it, wondering what the purpose is. Slowly, it becomes clear that the recordings are not going to end. I guess this is the first trial of the Reform. Well, I can handle it. Which is why I know it's going to get worse. It soon does.

All of a sudden, the surface of the box is burning hot against my hands. Literally. My skin blister and I scream, jerking them off the ground. I bump my head on the ceiling, and from the feel of things it's just as hot. I curl into myself, swearing loudly. The temperature in the room is still skyrocketing. It feels like the box has become an oven. The pledge keeps playing.

The air is so stuffy already that I can hardly breath. Panic blocks my throat. This is hot. Damned hot. Hot enough to kill me if they don't turn it down. What if they-

Suddenly the temperature takes a complete nosedive. I breathe a sigh of relief as the room goes from sweltering to stuffy to normal… and keeps on going. I'm not surprised at all when it doesn't stop at "comfortably cool". Soon I have the feeling I would be able to see my breath steam if I could see anything at all.

The cold eventually bottoms out, and shoots back up almost immediately. This time it rises even more quickly and stays hot for less time. It goes back down. Each time it goes faster and faster until the hot and cold are flashing by almost immediately. The volume of the pledge starts to rise until it's hurting my ears.

"I will kill without remorse.

"I will bring honor to my District.

"No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer.

"No pain is too great for me to overcome.

"The losers are nothing.

"The Capitol is benevolent.

"We are superior."

Ah, damn it! It's too loud!

All of a sudden the box jerks to the side. I bellow in pain, as the scalding floor slams against the skin of my face and hands. Before I can right myself, it jerks in another direction. I don't even have enough time to really process this new development before something pokes me.

Except, it's not a poke, judging by the lingering sting. In fact, I don't know how I thought it felt like a poke at all. Because the ones that follow most certainly do not. In fact, I think I'm being electrocuted, if at low voltage. But I have a feeling that it will get higher. And of course, it does.

It takes a few more minutes before I really start to scream. Which is when they begin venting something funny smelling into the room. Something that makes me feel lightheaded. Soon I don't even bother to defend myself as I'm tossed around the room, with the pledge blaring in my ears.

I quickly loose all sense of time in my haze of pain, darkness, and drug-induced stupor. I'm sure it goes on for hours, maybe even all day. It doesn't matter. With a temperature change or shock or jerk of the box always ready to knock me over backwards again, I can hardly think. So, my battered mind takes on the only thing it can.

_I will kill without remorse._

_I will bring honor to my District._

_No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer._

_No pain is too great for me to overcome._

_The losers are nothing._

_The Capitol is benevolent._

_We are superior._

They are superior. They are superior. They are superior.

As soon as it stops I'm asleep immediately. I'm in terrible pain, but I'm too tired for that to stop me. I'm awoken the next day by the girls coming in, and treated to another spin in the washing machine from Hell.

_I will kill without remorse._

_I will bring honor to my District._

_No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer._

_No pain is too great for me to overcome._

_The losers are nothing._

_The Capitol is benevolent._

_We are superior._

They are superior. They are superior. They are superior.

I don't know after how many days the "they" becomes a "we" again.


	17. In Which the Status Quo Returns

"Lightning, move your ass!" Spark bellows. I shout back some expletive or another.

"What, can't wait another two minutes to get to the Center?" I call. Spark jogs back, his overly-long brown hair flopping across his face.

"If I waited for you, it wouldn't be two minutes; it'd

be two weeks!" he complains. I take a swing at his head in response and we stop again to wrestle for a moment.

Really, for someone who complains about how long _I'm _taking, Spark is only too ready to stop if it means getting into a fight. He's not really all that good a Career, but he has a passion for violence. He started training only about a year ago, and if he keeps working as hard as he has been he may even qualify for the Games by the time he's eighteen.

"Well, it's not like we're doing anything important today," I say. "All we're going to be allowed to study for weeks is every twitch of the Twelve Bitch's fingers," I say. Spark laughs.

"Yeah, they'll be wanting us all to learn archery now. We should go on strike," he says.

"Alright. You try that, and…" I begin. _And I'll laugh as they stick you in Reform_, I almost say. I trail off, immediately swallowed in thoughts of hot and cold and pain and…

"L- Lightning? You okay, man?" Spark asks, his laughter dying off.

"Yeah," I murmur. "I'm… I'm okay."

"If you say so," he says suspiciously. I don't blame him for not believing me. It's not exactly a secret that the Reform was hard on me. But it wouldn't have been the Reform if it wasn't. I force a smile onto my face. It's been a month since they fixed me up, and I've recovered physically. Emotionally, mentally, psychologically… I might need a little more time, but I'm glad to say I'm on my way back to being my old self. I'm grateful, you know?

They were looking out for me, even if I didn't think they were at the time. I almost lost something very important to me.

"Well, let's _go_, then!" exclaims Spark. I grin.

"Fine. Race you there!" I exclaim and take off. Spark shouts something in protest but soon follows. Of course he does. None of us would pass up an opportunity to compete.

We reach the training center at about the same time. Spark's not as strong as me, but he is pretty fast. If he keeps working on that, he'll be faster than I am soon. We scuffle briefly over who will be the winner before we head inside.

"See you later, Lightning," Spark pants. He heads off to wherever it is he does his practice as I head up to the archery station. It really _is _the thing to learn right now. While I have no real interest in using a bow and arrow (ranged battle really isn't my thing), I'd better know how to use one at least passably if everyone else is going to as well.

A few people greet me or punch me on the arm as I walk past. I'm back to being everyone's friend, not that poor sucker whose sister was a loser or some crazy guy running around shouting weird stuff about the Hunger Games.

I wince. After a month, the whole thing has mostly blown over. Unfortunately, I can't really say it's been forgotten, and it's damned embarrassing. Really, I don't know what got into my head. I was a sick little kid.

I try not to zone out completely as the instructor goes through some boring instructions on how to aim and shoot, how to hold it so the string doesn't skin your arm so you release it, how to unstring it when you're not using it because apparently that's easier on the bow. Not that we're ever going to have a moment in the Hunger Games when we won't need our bow ready and available.

We take a few shots with very blunted tips. We couldn't hurt anybody with these if we wanted to, maybe accepting if we happened to his somebody right in the eye. None of us has that level of accuracy yet. We won't until long after we've gotten to work in the ranged courts that are located on the second floor. I'm a terrible shot, worse than I was before the last Games. Maybe it's because thinking of a bow and arrow makes me think of Katniss Everdeen, which makes me thinks of Glims, which make me think of that stupid speech, which make me think of Reform…

My hands shake so hard I drop the bow. Some people make rude comments, but they're half-hearted. They can tell I got that far-way look again, the telltale sign I'm possessed by my memories. I'm grateful for the pathetic nature of their insults, even though the others don't spare true malice out of any desire to protect my feelings. They have a hard time joking about the Reform because it truly scares them.

There are not many things that scare today's Careers, and with good reason. We are pretty damn dangerous. But the idea of being helpless, of being beaten down, of the Reform? That's terrifying.

"Hey, Lightning. You… you need to go home?" I glance over my shoulder. Since Fame is only a year younger than me, we're lumped together into instructional groups like this one pretty often. I'm a little surprised he even bothered. I wouldn't expect he'd care - if he even noticed.

"No, I'm fine," I say. I take another shot and manage to nick the edge of the target this time. I've used up my allowed shots, so I pass the bow on to the person behind me and get back in line. After an hour or so of working at the overcrowded archery stations we're called in for classroom sessions.

"I will kill without remorse.

"I will bring honor to my District.

"No pain is too great for the enemy to suffer.

"No pain is too great for me to overcome.

"The losers are nothing.

"The Capitol is benevolent.

"We are superior."

I stutter a little over the words to the pledge. There's no way I can even think about them without having to think in turn of those awful weeks (I found out after being released that I had been kept in Reform for almost two weeks; any longer and I would have starved to death), and actually saying them makes me sick to my stomach. As I said, I'm not quite as psychologically healed as I am physically.

They launch into some sort of lesson covering everything that went over in the Hunger Games, especially everything having to do with the Twelve Bitch and our tributes. It's nothing I haven't played over in my mind a million times, and nothing they won't teach us over and over for the sake of those who miss one session or another, so I don't really bother listening. I'll take a nap instead.

"Get 'er! Get 'er! Gettergettergetter!" Sir crows from his seat on the couch. The Capitol provided us with a new TV when we filed all the paperwork proving we couldn't afford one of our own. Goodness knows that it would be the downfall of Panem if we missed any official broadcasts. Or in my father's case, Hunger Games reruns.

I roll my eyes at his excitement. It's not like we haven't seen the fortieth Hunger Games over and over. It was the year that Titus kid went around eating people, so it's quite a favorite. Every time they replay it, he gets so excited for this scene in particular. Titus bites the District 8 girl's fingers off before he kills her. It's an awesome scene, for sure, but so overplayed. It's just not fresh anymore.

"Lightning? Can you help me and Richie with our math?" Illusion says, poking her head out of the hallway. I smile.

"Sure, Illy. Just a second," I call. I push myself up off my stomach, gathering my own books. The history of Panem is a ridiculously dull subject. I mean, they had a lot of really great wars, but they're so vague on the details. Just that the world was falling apart, how Panem prospered until the rebellion, and then _overly_-detailed accounts of rebels defeats. After that, it's all the succession of the presidency and the evolution of the Hunger Games to its current state of perfection. Sometimes there's something about an important invention or a breakthrough in muttation technology. It's a tiny history book, but they really draw it out.

I head down the hall and drop my books on my bed. Illy and Riches are sitting cross-legged on her bunk. I'm not great mathematical mind, but Illy's only in fifth grade and Richie's in fourth, so I should be able to handle it.

"Long division," I mutter to myself. Math is a mostly pointless subject, anyway. Where do they think we live, District 5? Well, I guess some of the really smart people get better jobs in the production lines, but most of us will have grunt jobs producing luxury goods. Do you need math to learn how to cut diamonds or synthesize gold? I don't think so.

"Alright! Let's see what I can do here," I say, sitting by the bed. Illy's mostly quiet, while Riches jokes and ribs me like any Career my age. I swear. A month into his private training and he's already getting cocky. Oh, well. I think I might even like him better this way. About time he grew some backbone.

Illusion, on the other hand, has lost whatever backbone she might have once had. Really, I don't know why she even bothers showing up for training. She's scared of practically everything. She even avoids our family's eyes most of the time. I hope that when she either drops out or gets kicked out she won't catch too mach crap from our parents.

"So, you see? Two goes into sixteen eight times. So you write the eight up here and subtract the sixteen-"

"But we're not _dividing _sixteen by two, dumbass!" Complains Richie. "We're dividing one hundred and sixty-seven by twenty!"

"Yeah, I know," I say impatiently. "But you're going to get really confused if you try to do it the other way."

It quickly becomes clear that Illusion doesn't need my help at all. She probably only asked me because Richie was too embarrassed to ask himself and bullied her into it. She curls up with her books and tries not to look at us. I don't think she's even doing long division. I guess she's could be kind of a smart kid if she wanted to be. Or if our parents would let up hitting us long enough for her to study. Since those are about equally unlikely to happen, she's going to have to settle for bad to mediocre.

Eventually we fight our way through Riches' math homework. He's immediately out the door and off to go play in our small yard. I don't blame him. Math's a drag.

Illusion looks up, a little startled; and closing her spelling book mid-question, smashing her paper between its pages. I frown, "Whoa, kid. You okay, Illy?"

She nods mutely and hops off her bed. She scuttles toward the door and I catch her by the wrist. She winces a little. I smile apologetically. "Ooh, sorry. Ma'am hurt you arm last night?"

"Uh-uh," she mutters. "Let me go."

I frown, "You've been acting so weird lately, Illy. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says immediately. And of course, when a girl says nothing is wrong it means she's upset and expects you to know why already.

"Right," I answer skeptically. "Look, whatever it is, you can tell me." I smile at her again. Illy's always been pretty easy to cheer up. She's so desperate for love that just a smile and a ruffle of her hair will usually set her grinning. Now she shrinks into herself at my smile. I feel my face start to slip into a frown, "What?"

"Lightning, let _go of me_," she says, her voice trembling.

"No! Not until you tell me what's going on," I say. The fear growing behind her eyes is clear. "W- what's wrong? What are you so scared of? If someone has been treating you wrong at training I'll kick their ass from here to Distri-"

"It's you," she whispers, voice shaking. It's like she's slapped me.

"W- what?" I say, forcing myself to laugh. "Why? I'm… I'm still me, Illy."

"How do I know?" she says, glassing her eyes over. "How do I know what they made you into? How do I know what they did to you? How do I know what they're going to make you do? How-"

"Illusion," I interrupt her. I grab her other arm and pull her towards me, which is a huge mistake. She shrieks in terror and kicks me hard in the groin. I immediately double up in pain and she runs out of the room. I hear Sir growl at her as she runs out and the door slamming shut behind her.

My mind reels, trying to piece it together. It tries to understand the strange feeling of déjà vu, but it's like trying to hold a piece of soap in the shower.

Illy can't trust me any more. She's separated from me, just like _Glimmer is a loser _and _Silkiness is irrelevant. _I suddenly feel nauseous as my memories fight with the Reform. I shove the rebellious thoughts away as best I can.

_No pain is too great for me to overcome._

I chant the line of the Career pledge, trying to give myself strength.

_No pain is too great. We are superior._

I can't quite tell if it's working.


	18. In Which I Lose What I've Gained

"…until the fourth Hunger Games, when the first impromptu volunteer was allowed to replace the selected tribute."

Mr. Meekham drones on and on. Really, it's possible the real reason I find our History book so boring is that I can't think about the class without thinking of his voice. Thankfully, the bell soon rings and I get out of class without actually falling asleep. I swing my bag up onto my shoulder and am halfway out the door when Meekham calls me back.

"Mr. Radican! I'd like to speak with you, please."

Some of my friends look back at me and I shrug. "Go ahead, I'll catch up," I say. They nod and I wait beside the door until the flow of people going home after school has ended. Once the doorway is clear I sidle back inside and drop my books on somebody's desk, trying to act casual. I wonder if this is about the failing grade I got on my last report card? I don't think so. No teacher has ever called me in after failing his or her class before. Then again, I've never failed History before, and Mr. Meekham-

"Please sit down, Lightning," he says pleasantly.

Meekham's a terrible teacher, but he's not a bad guy. He's too sleepy and slow to be mean. I perch on top of a desk in the front and he frowns. Apparently, this is not what he meant. He doesn't bother arguing with me, though, and sits down at his desk in the front.

"I wanted to talk to you about your brother," he says. I blink.

"Um… okay. Which one?" I ask.

"Riches. I'm sorry, normally I would speak to your parents about this, but they've ignored the requests to come up and talk to me," he says, frowning.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I get it. It's fine," I say. It does feel a little weird, though, talking to a teacher like I'm an adult called up when my kid landed himself a visit to the Disciplinarian's office.

"Riches hasn't been attending my class for the last couple of weeks," Mr. Meekham says. "What's more, I've talked to some of his other teachers and he's been cutting all his classes." I'm a little surprised to hear that. Richie, Illy, and I usually walk home together, and he's never been late. If he's really skipping school, he's doing a good job hiding it.

"Lightning, I'm sure you know the penalty for truancy?"

Mr. Meekham asks seriously. I nod. Public whipping.

"I'll talk to him about it, Mr. Meekham," I promise. He nods.

"Make sure you do. I can't imagine it will be too much longer before the attendance officers take notice," Meekham replies solemnly.

"Um, yeah," I say. "So… can I go?"

"Of course. Thank you, Mr. Radican."

I nod in response and head out the door, remembering to scoop up my book bag on the way out. As I'm halfway out the door Mr. Meekham calls out, "By the way, you might want to study a little harder for your next test!"

I grimace and don't respond, letting the door swing shut on its own. The hallway is mostly empty already. Nobody really waits around for very long after school. However, as I hurry to the front where my siblings will be waiting for me, I see someone walk out of the bathroom. It's Gymnasium. He's a nice kid, but kind of a wimp, so I haven't talked to him much since my Reform. I guess he's scared of me, like Illy.

"Hey, Gymnasium!" I call. He jumps a little and then smiles nervously.

"Oh. H- hey, Lightning. How you doing?" he asks.

"I'm okay," I say. "But my History grade isn't. You have Meekham, right?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do," he says.

"Great. Listen, could I borrow your homework?" I ask. He blinks.

"Um… You mean, like, cheat?" he clarifies.

"Well, yeah. Kinda," I admit with a shrug. I trust that I won't really need to threaten to beat him up. I will if it comes to that, of course, but when a Career asks for your homework the "or else" is mostly implied.

"Oh. S- sure," he says lamely. "I haven't done today's homework yet, but… I'll meet you're here tomorrow morning?"

"Great!" I exclaim. "I knew I could count on you. When do you have History?"

"Right after lunch…"

"Then I'll meet you in the cafeteria during lunch to give it back to you," I say. He nods weakly and I pat him on the back. I put a little more force than I normally would into the pat, to remind him that I could hurt him if I really wanted to. I smile once more at him and head for the front. Well, got my History problems solved.

"Hey, shrimp!" I shout when I see Richie. Illusion is huddled a few feet away. She does her best to stay as far away from the two of us as possible when we walk home. Really, I don't know why she even bothers coming with us. She's either really stupid or even more afraid of bullies than she is of us, I guess.

I've noticed that Illusion's fear of me seems to extend to Riches as well. I'm not sure why, because he's certainly never been through the Reform. I guess he's been acting a little differently since he began private lessons, more outgoing and abrasive, but I wouldn't call it a bad thing. I think he's more fun this way.

"What do you want, crapass?" he calls back. I grin. That's my brother. I punch him in the arm as I walk by and he tackles me. I drop my bag and we scuffle for a moment. I win pretty quickly, of course. Richie may have a better trainer than I do, but he's still six years younger and a lot smaller.

"Fine, fine. You win!" he complains, trying to shove me off. However, I've remembered Mr. Meekham's comments from earlier and I don't let him up.

"Why have you been cutting class?" I ask dangerously. His eyes widen a little bit. Apparently he didn't expect to get caught.

"None of your business," he says back.

"Look, Richie," I say. "Don't be an idiot. You think just because you're getting a fancy training means you don't have to go to school? Well, it doesn't. The Peacekeepers'll still whip your ass for cutting, you got me?"

"I can deal with it," he growls. He's not smiling anymore.

"No, you can't, retard," I tell him. "Shit, you can't even take _me _in a fight yet; much less armed, trained Peacekeepers."

Riches tries to interrupt, but I go on and just talk over him.

"Look, if it was just Ma'am and Sir you had to worry about, I'd say go ahead. They'd never care enough to stop you. Any of us could do whatever the fuck we wanted! But it's not, so don't be any idiot, okay?" I finish. "I _said_ okay?"

"Okay, fine! Just get off of me!" he exclaims. I stand and he wriggles out from under me, scowling and cursing. He scoops up his stuff and darts away. After a second I realize he's heading home (or maybe somewhere else) on his own.

"Hey!" I try, but he doesn't turn back. I don't bother shouting again or running after him. If he doesn't want to walk with me, he doesn't have to, the ungrateful little bastard. "Well, I guess it's just you and me, then," I say, giving what I hope is a winning smile to Illy. She just hunches her shoulders and doesn't say anything.

I start for home and she falls into step about six feet behind me. Figures. Before, Illy would have been bounding ahead of me, chattering and darting back and forth to look at flowers or whatever, but now she's afraid to have her back to me. I try to think of something to talk about that doesn't involve the Hunger Games, training, or our family. Unfortunately, that doesn't leave much. School is the best bet, I suppose.

"What are you guys doing in school?" I ask.

"Normal stuff," she says.

"That's… sounds kind of boring," I prompt.

"Kind of," she agrees.

"Too bad," I say. "When I was in seventh year we did this cool project about… never mind," I say, hastily changing the topic. The project was a diorama of a famous Hunger Games scene. I can't imagine brining that up will do anything but scare her. "You getting excited for winter break, yet?"

"No. We've only been back in school for a week," Illusion says flatly.

"Well, I am. I miss summer. No homework, lots of free time to… do whatever you want. Plus, you get to sleep in, which is awesome," I say, forcing enthusiasm.

"I guess. But winter break is when they're going to be doing the victory tour," she says quietly. I freeze, my artificial grin still stretching my cheeks. The victory tour. I'd forgotten. Even before the Reform, the return of the Twelve Bitch was the last thing on my mind. I was so busy making an idiot out of myself and almost losing my mind that I'd never even considered it. And now everything's been so perfect that it had never crossed my mind. But now that Illy's reminded me, I can feel panic slipping into my stomach.

No. No way. This can't be happening. The Reform was supposed to _fix _this, dammit!

But it's there, undeniably. The urge to run, the hunted terror, is slicing through me at the thought of Everdeen's stop in District 1. It must show on my face because Illusion takes one cautious step closer and calls my name.

"Lightning?"

"Oh, y-yeah. I'm okay. I just… I think I may be coming down with something," I mutter. It's not really a lie. I _hope _I am, and I certainly feel queasy enough. "Let's g-go home, Illy."

"Alright," she says. I force myself to walk as normally as possible. I can feel her eying me. She looks… not worried about me. Just wary. I think I must be reinforcing her opinion that I've gone soundly and firmly off the deep end. At this point, I'd have to agree with her.

I can hardly see straight and my head feels like it's going to explode. Ma'am told me I don't have to go to school tomorrow, and even agreed to bring me dinner in bed later on. She may not love me, but if I get too sick and die she's wasted fifteen years raising me without me even getting into the Games. Of course, we can't have that, so I'm curled up on my cot in the middle of the room.

I can hear the TV going in the living room. Fame, Queen, and Riches haven't gotten home yet, and Illusion is working on her homework. Probably outside, as it's a nice day and she'll avoid any arbitrary beatings from our parents out there. I'd be out there too, if I weren't in the mood to shoot myself.

It's like a second rebellion's being waged inside of my brain. I can feel the Reform bra-t-training fighting for control against the hate I feel for the girl who killed my sister, the disgust at seeing her again, especially so personally. What will she say in her speech. _Sorry for murdering your sister. But at least it was totally disfiguring and on national television, right? Oops, you mean I sent you insane, too? Sorry to hear that._

I can barely focus on anything. It's a strain to link together enough words to be considered a whole thought. And it's scaring me. If Reform did nothing else for me, it cured me of the constant mental balancing act. It ended my helpless resistance. Now I'm thrown straight back in the face of that, with a lot of fu- pai- ben- beneficial reconditioning in the mix. I don't know if I can take this.

"Lightning?" Ma'am kicks the door open, carrying a bowl that I guess is soup. She must have made it specifically because I feel like I'm about to die. How nice of her. "You ready to eat?"

I shake my head miserably and she shrugs. "Well, alright. I'll just leave this here for you. Want… a glass of water or something?"

"No," I croak. The only thing I want is for her to go away, so her voice will stop irritating the massive headache I can feel coming on. Surprisingly enough, I get what I want for once. And I am alone again.


	19. In Which I Have to Enter the Workforce

Working isn't as bad as I'd anticipated. The first payment for Camisole's nose repair had sapped me of my life's savings, and I'd been forced to find a new source of income. My parents sure weren't going to help out and I doubted I could wheedle the full value out of my siblings. Taking a job was the only choice. It wasn't all that hard to do. Even though the Training Center is mostly Victor-funded, they're always looking to save money - like any business. If they can cut an experienced, highly paid trainer and replace him or her with a teenage kid desperate for an extra few credits, they'll jump at the chance. It was only the very basic classes, after all. Most of the Training Center kids could teach that class. Of course, hardly any of them want to. I don't blame them. Teenage Careers are egoti- pretty self confident, but _seven-year-old _Careers are absolute little monsters.

I rub my temples, feeling the first throb of a headache beginning to stretch itself out between my skull and my eyes. This is going to be fun.

"Who're you?" one of them babbles. "Where's Miss Rainbow?"

"I'm going to be teaching you now," I say with a smile, assuming Miss Rainbow is their old teacher. "You can call me Mr. Radican."

"But _you're _not a Mister. Misters are old!" one intones sagely.

I try to keep the smile on my face. Damn, I hate kids.

"No, 'Mister' is just respectful," I correct. "Since I'm going to be training you from now on, you need to respect me. Got it?"

"Okay," a few kids grumble. I survey my class of ten kids. On average, only one or two of them will eventually qualify to compete for the spot of District 1 Career when they're eighteen. If their current conduct is any indicator, they'll be more toward the one side of that average.

"Hey! Hey, everyone. Come on, focus," I call. Two of the girls are chasing a boy around the Training Center yard, trying to steal the ball in his arms. A couple of kids are wandering around on their own, picking grass and weeds. The rest are already gathered around me, analyzing their new instructor suspiciously. None of the children running around pay any attention to my call for order.

Well. Guess we'll just have to do this the hard way.

"Hey!" I bellow. One girl looks up from picking a handful of dandelions and frowns, but the rest ignore me. I growl, causing the group of kids collected around me to take a surprised step back. I fix my eyes on the three kids with the ball, who are now wrestling for it in the grass, and stalk toward them.

"Hey!" I snap again, grabbing the two girls by their shoulders and flinging them backward onto the grass. One yelps. Their laughter is cut short almost immediately as I snatch the ball and kick it to the other side of the yard. "Any of you so much as looks at that again, and I'll pop it on a javelin, you got me?" I threaten. They can probably tell I'm not joking.

I yank the boy to his feet and shove him off toward the group of kids who were asking questions about Miss Rainbow. The two girls get the idea and scramble to their feet before I have the opportunity to "help" them up. It only takes a couple more hollers to gather up the two or three loners after that display. Good. It's looking like whoever this "Miss Rainbow" was, she wasn't nearly rough enough with her kids. Figures. Never trust someone named something like "Rainbow".

"Okay," I bark, looking at the frowning collection of kids. "This whole playing around attitude ends now. _Now. _You got me? You are either gonna work your asses off, or you're going to _stop wasting my time_."

Ten pairs of small, solemn eyes blink back in response.

"Okay. Glad we got that out of the way," I say briskly. "Now, I won't remember all your names at first, but why don't you introduce yourselves so I can get started."

"What if I don't _wanna _tell you my name?" one of the girls asks boldly. My eyes narrow and I lean down close to her face.

"Doesn't matter what you want," I say quietly. "_I'm _the teacher."

"I don't like you!" she exclaims decisively. "I want Miss Rainbow to come back!"

"Well, Miss Rainbow isn't coming back. She got eaten by a bear," I snap. The children's widen and a couple of them proceed to burst into tears. I immediately regret my testy words when quieting them down proves more difficult than just admitting I lied. Finally I manage to convince most of them that Miss Rainbow didn't _actually _get eaten by a bear and get them back in line.

"Let's try this again," I say, working hard not to let my frustration creep into my voice. "Your names. You first."

The little girl who didn't like me stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. "Ice."

The boy with the ball was next. "Grindstone."

The girls that were chasing Grindstone identify themselves as Mirror and Blue, and twin sisters. They looked nothing alike, but I figured it really didn't matter if they lied to me about something like that. Why would I even need to know?

One by one the kids fed me their names. Perfection. Marble. Statuette, Bear, and Spear. All pretty average names until we got to 'Exsanguinations'. "But I like San," he says matter-of-factly.

"Okay. San works," I agree, a little relieved. "Exsanguinations" is a bit of a mouthful. Nothing I couldn't handle (although I know several Careers whose brains would have misfired and died over the long word), but a nickname will still be handy. Plus, he just doesn't seem like the sort to need a big name. He's not a very big kid.

"Alright. As I said, you can call me Mr. Radican. I'm going to be teaching you some of the basics. Now, this is your first year in training, right?" I ask. A few of them nod. A few snuffle, still torn up about Miss Rainbow. None contradict me. "Great. How long ago did this class start?"

Nobody answers me. Oh, right. Seven-year-old kids. Probably not the best at keeping track of time.

"O… kay. Well… what have you been covering?" I try.

"Weapons," the girl, Ice, informs me haughtily.

"What about 'em?" I ask. 'Weapons' is a little too broad to base a curriculum around, even a relatively relaxed one like a training curriculum.

"We been covering them," Ice insists. I take a deep breath.

"Okay, great. But what did Miss Rainbow tell you about them?" I ask. As first year Careers, I doubt they'd be doing any actual weapon handling yet, so I figure they've just been doing informational classes and such.

"Their names. How you use 'em," Ice says. "She let us hold a coupla fake ones."

"Okay, great. _That_ I can work with," I say. Ice huffs like she couldn't possibly care less, but I'm not really paying much attention to her anymore. "Well. Let's do some exercises, then, and maybe we'll go over some of the basic weapons later."

The kids don't say anything, unless you count whispering loudly to each other, and I don't.

"Well. You guys are going to be a fabulous class, I can just tell," I sigh. "Oh, well. Let's take a couple of laps around the field first."

One of the boys makes a funny sort of whining groan. "You mean we hafta _run_?" he complains.

"Uh, yeah," I say. "You won't be much of a Career if you can't even run anywhere…" I can see where his hesitation comes from. The kid is quite a porker. I can't imagine it's all that easy for him to run anywhere. I have serious doubts that he'll ever make for a good Career. "Listen, Grindstone-"

"_He's _not Grindstone. _I'm _Grindstone!" one of the crying boys complains

"Sorry, sorry," I say. I look back to the fat kid. "What's your name again?"

"Perfection," he replies. I almost find myself snorting with laughter, but just barely manage to hold it in. He gives me a funny look, so I guess some of my amusement must have shown through on my face. _Perfection. _How pretentious. How very District 1.

_District 1 is Panem's most honorable District. Careers are Panem's most honorable citizens._

Oh, shit.

I can't stop sucking in a breath of pain, and my hands fly to my temples. I stiffen, and have the distinct urge to curl up into a whimpering ball in the grass. The only problem being, of course, that I'm teaching a class full of young Careers and squirming around in pain is distinctly un-Careerlike.

"What are you doing?" Ice asks suspiciously.

"J- just have a headache," I mutter. "It'll… go away in a minute."

I wish that were true. It's a splitting pain, bad enough that I'm consciously trying to smother my rude thoughts about District 1's citizens. Unfortunately, it's a little hard to control what you do or don't think. I don't see why this should have triggered my Reform conditioning anyway. I mean, I can be loyal to Panem without liking every random idiot who.

Ow! _Shit._

"Let's get going," I grunt. "We'll take it slow the first time." Part of that decision came out of concern for kids like Perfection, and part of it came from the fact that my head is spinning with pain and going too fast would probably end with me falling over and looking like a total idiot. I can feel their small eyes one me, some skeptical, some confused, and some still wet in mourning for Miss Rainbow.

Okay, I'm _really _regretting saying that now. Looks like these kids are going to be a mess for days.

I take off at an easy jog. I motion that they should follow me, and they do so, albeit reluctantly. I glance over my shoulder to see that Perfection is already huffing a little. I wonder how long it's been since he moved any faster than a walk. Too long, I suppose. He's going to need to start a diet or there's no way he'll ever make up the ground he's lost being so fat. I make a note to tell his parents when they pick him up.

The longer we run, the clearer it becomes who's at the top. Ice and the two boys named Bear and Spear keep close on my heels. Behind them are the "twins", a boy whose name I don't remember, and San. Behind them the last kids are strung out, with Perfection trailing almost half the length of the field behind us. I sigh. We might have a problem.

I keep the kids going for another few laps before I stop and say they can go get a drink of water. A couple of them collapse in relief before slowly making their way toward the fountain. I wonder if I was ever this pathetic. I don't think so. Our parents took care to keep us in pretty good shape before we were old enough to start attending the Training Center. It's clear which of these kids have had no such encouragement from their parents.

It takes a while for the kids to get themselves all watered. I had almost forgotten how disorganized little children can be. As I wait for them to finish running and squealing and distracting each other I sit down and nurse my fading headache. Good old-fashioned exercise helped distract me.

As I sit, I slowly become aware of one of the kids inching towards me. I look up and see San scooting over the grass, observing me silently.

"What?" I ask, not really sure what he's up to.

"Miss Rainbow's not really dead, is she?" he asks, giving me a calculating look.

"No. I already admitted I was lying," I sigh.

"Well, why did you do that?" he asks. I blink.

"Well… I don't know. I was mad," I reply with a shrug. He frowns at me.

"That's a stupid reason!" he accuses. I shrug helplessly, but can't think of anything more to say. He crosses his arms and glares at me, his light brown eyes narrowed. I start feeling uncomfortable after a moment or two and clear my throat as I rise to my feet.

"Alright, everyone!" I call. "Let's do some push ups!"

Each and every one of them groans.


	20. In Which I Try and Fail to Sleep In

**A/N**- Sorry for the wait! I spent spring break in New York without a computer, and then as soon as I got back my beta was busy with her best friend's wedding. So much business! Enjoy.

* * *

"Get your lazy ass out of bed," Queen snarls, yanking the blankets off of my cot. I groan and curl in on myself, wrapping my arms around myself in a pathetic attempt to compensate with the warmth I've lost. "You already missed training yesterday, and there's no way in hell our parents will let you miss two days in a row if you're not even sick."

"I _am _sick! I keep getting headaches," I whine. Queen rolls her eyes.

"Being a wimp doesn't count as being sick. I mean, like, a temperature or something. Ugh! Ma'am won't give me breakfast until I get you out of bed, so get. The fuck. Up!" she screams.

Ah, I see. This is the root of my sister dearest's sudden interest in my training. I should have figured there was something in it for her beyond the opportunity to make my life miserable.

"Ugh! I swear, Lightning! What did they do in Reform, smack you over the head until you couldn't count to four? You're an even bigger pain now than you were before!"

I roll over and cover my head with my pillow, but I can still hear Queen's grumbling, and her foot tapping on the floor. I can almost feel her glaring at me, calculating whether an attempt to drag me out of bed by force is worth the damage it might do to her appearance. Apparently she decides against it, because the next sound I hear is her clomping out of our room and down the hall. "I _tried_, Ma'am!" I hear her whine. "I can't get him out. You better try, because I think someone broke your son…"

I roll my eyes under my pillow, before grasping blindly for the blankets Queen dropped on the ground. I pull them up and toss them back over me, so they more or less cover all the right parts. I have the feeling I don't have long to enjoy the warmth of my bed before my mother buckles under Queen's complaints and comes to get me herself. And I think she'd do a better job of removing me from my bed by force than my older sister would.

I suddenly envy non-Careers, in a pretty superficial way. They can sleep in or Saturday mornings. And their sisters are less likely to be slaughtered in the Hunger Games, but _Glimmer chose that for herself. She reached for an honor of which she was not worthy. She is a disgrace. I should laugh at her death and spit on her name._

My rebellious mind doesn't seem to bother fighting my Reform brain. I'm too tired. It makes perfect sense to me, at least at the moment.

Soon I hear footsteps approaching, more collected than Queen's angry stomping. I sigh. There's probably no way for me to escape a beating now, anyway, so I might as well stay in bed until forced to do otherwise. Not that that will be very much longer, from the sound of things, but it'll be something, at least.

_Bang._

"Lightning, get up," I hear the growled order come.

_Of course she had to slam the door, _I sigh to myself. _Otherwise her entrance just wouldn't be dramatic enough. _"I don't feel well," I announced for the whole room to hear. Ma'am strode over and put one hand on her forehead and one on mine.

"You don't have a fever. Get up," she ordered.

"Just because I don't have a fever doesn't mean that I'm not sick," I argued.

"It means you're not sick enough to miss Training. Especially since you've been absent so much, lately."

"I have not! I've been going into work almost every day, haven't I?" I growl.

"Because running around a field with some third-year students is going to be a real boon to your abilities," she says sarcastically. "Lightning, I am _ordering _you out of this bed, right now."

"Alright, alright! I'm going," I grumble, forcing myself up and out of the bed. I'm just wobbling on my feet when her foot collides with my leg.

"Umph!" I grunt, crumpling. A little thrown off by the abruptness of her attack, I don't even think to defend myself. Ma'am punches me once in the face, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a black eye. She delivers another hard kick, this time to my stomach. She gives me one sharp slap. While Queen is a good slapper, it was Ma'am who taught her how it's done. I hiss in pain and am just scrambling to my feet when she grabs a hold of my shoulders and slams me against the wall.

"I will _not _tolerate disrespect, Lightning, especially from someone I've raised myself. I _demand _that you follow orders. If you don't, you will learn the true meaning of Hell," she hisses. I can barely make out my mother's eyes in the gloom of my unlit room, but I can imagine the flinty look in her eyes. I've seen it often enough.

"Yes, Ma'am," I say, unable to completely swallow my anger and disgust. We stand for a moment, eyes locked in eyes, before she huffs slightly.

"Ungrateful bastard," she growls. Ma'am turns and strides toward the door. I hear rushed whispers and some faint thudding, so I assume a couple of my siblings have been listening at the door.

"Ungrateful for what?" I snap back before I can help myself. Ma'am stops, her hand outstretched for the doorknob. Slowly it falls back to her side. She turns to me, very deliberately.

"What?" she hisses.

My promise to treat her with respect is broken four seconds after I make it, but I can't really find it in my heart to care. "What the fuck do you think I owe you?" I shout. "Do I _owe _you for coming in and hitting me? If that's what you're saying then I'd be only too happy to pay you back, _Mom_."

"Don't address me so casually!" she orders. I snort.

"Then is _that _what I owe you for? Bringing me up all these years? Because in case you haven't noticed, we practically raised ourselves. All of us! And we're _fucking miserable_!" I bellow.

"Do you think I mind that you're not grateful? That you're so greedy you don't appreciate anything your father and I have done for you? Because I can assure you, I don't," Ma'am retorts.

"Oh? Oh, really? Well, there's a big surprise. I wouldn't _ever _have guessed that you don't care about me. Next thing I know, you'll be telling me that Katniss Everdeen won the Hunger Games, so that the sky is blue! You are just a fountain of knowledge aren't you?" I mock. She reels back and takes another slap at me, but I'm ready for it this time. I parry her blow, and she hesitates in surprise.

"I told you I wasn't out of shape from missing training," I spit. Ma'am glares at me for a moment, looking a little thrown off, and then she starts to laugh.

Wait, laugh?

"You _honestly _think you could ever beat me, you little bastard, if I was _really _trying to hurt you? I could kill you without breaking a sweat. Be grateful for that, if nothing else. I could have beaten you, any of you, to death at any time and no one would have given a shit. But I didn't. You see, I'm nicer than you realize," she purrs dangerously.

I wipe the corner of my mouth, righting myself from where I'm sprawled on the stained carpet. Ma'am smiles sweetly as I stumble to my feet.

"But you know, Lightning, I think it's time for a little demonstration," she says coolly, and her fist whips toward my head.

I dodge, ducking under her strike. I take a kick at her knee, but she jumps over it with the ease of a child skipping rope and delivers a sharp elbow in my back. I fall with a grunt, and her knees dig into my back. She grabs one of my arms, twisting it hard behind my back, and I howl with pain. I thrash in her grip, and manage to topple her with a sharp jerk of my weight. We end up in a pile, me on top of my mother, both of us looking up at the ceiling. I curl into a half-sitting position and the slam my weight back, smashing my head into the side of her head. It hurts, like every head-butt does, but it sounds like it hurts her quite a bit more. She loosens her grip and I struggle to my feet.

_She's really going to kill me_, I think with glazed terror. _She's going to kill me. _

I can't win. That's become very clear. I'm amazed that Ma'am never qualified, if she still has this level of skill years after she stopped attending training. Whoever beat her out for the position must have been pretty damn good.

I stumble to my feet, trying to reach the door to my room. I may have pissed her off, but there's a good chance that if she just has some time to cool down I'll be forgiven. That means I need to get away before she has the chance to inflict any permanent damage. Which translates to running.

It's not in my Career's nature to run from a fight. In fact, my mind balks and protests against it even now. It's superseded by the only higher purpose a Career has: to win. If that means running, my body will do it in order to reach for the greater goal. You can't say there's _nothing _beneficial about Career training. It's a great backup system when your mind just farts out on you.

But as handy as my instincts may be, they're just not enough. All of a sudden something sharp and hard catches me in the back, knocking me down to my knees and sprawling my on the floor again. After a few moments of scrabbling in terror with whatever it is, I'm able to ascertain that it's one of the cots.

Before I can right myself in the confusion of metal legs and spilled blankets, the cot is yanked off me and Ma'am grabs a hold of my shirt by the collar. She pulls me to my feet and before I can regain my footing she uses my momentum to smash me into the wall headfirst.

I'm so dazed by pain I can't even conjure up a favorite swear word. I see stars and my vision goes fuzzy on the edges. I'm convinced I'm going to pass out, but I barely manage to stay swimming at the edge of consciousness. Ma'am puts her foot down on my windpipe, leaning forward with just enough force that I can't breath. I don't bother struggling. I'm at her mercy; if I try to fight back it will be only too easy for her to snap my neck.

"You _will _train, until the day you can beat me in a fair fight, you hear me?" she snarls. I can hardly focus well enough to comprehend her words, much less pay any attention to her tone, but I know well enough what it would be. It would be the venomous hiss of a woman trying to beat an unfortunate problem into submission.

"You will _not _disrespect me any further," she continues, leaning slightly further forward, so that her foot on my throat becomes truly painful, rather than just interrupting air flow.

"You _will _enter the Games when you turn eighteen. And you _will _win. Am I understood?"

I can't nod or answer since my vision is once again swimming with black spots, but she knows I get the message. The threat to suffocate someone is generally only too clear a threat.

"Good. I'm glad we had this talk," she says smoothly. Her weight lifts from my neck and she turns to leave the room. "By the way," she says from the door. "You're leaving for the Training Center in twenty minutes. You'd better hurry."

The door slams shut behind her, and I lay in a half-conscious daze of pain. After a moment I hear it creak open again, and I vaguely make out another figure enter. It's too small to be Fame or Queen, and it doesn't carry and of Riches' arrogance with it, so I assume it's Illusion.

I hear a half-hearted attempt at asking me if I'm alright, but I can't summon the mental function to reply. Illy hesitates at the door before crossing the room and inserting a pillow between my head and the floor. She smoothes my hair back from my forehead before drifting back out of the room like a ghost, more or less helpless to do anything more. Although the pillow won't really help much, I appreciate the effort.

_Okay, here's the deal,_ I think to my Reform brain. _You win. I was an idiot to think I ever had a chance of escaping this life. It's a pointless battle and I'm done fighting for this. Just… give me something in return. There's nothing more to do, but give me a chance to at least achieve some sort of satisfaction. Just let me kill Katniss Everdeen when she comes through on her victory tour. Can't I have that?_

_It's all her fault. She killed Glims. Glimmer's death was the only thing that made me lose faith. So you see, she deserves to die._

Where else can I lay the blame but Katniss Everdeen? Not on the Training Center. My mind balks at the thought. Not on Glimmer. She was one of the few people in my life who loved me unconditionally. So my mind makes a compromise. Things come full circle, to the burning hate for the girl who killed my sister that I was left with directly after her death.

Things are simple now. There is no right or wrong. There is no Career life or family to choose between. I give all of that up with every labored, painful breath. Now there is only hate. Burning hate for Katniss Everdeen.

And it feels good.


	21. In Which I Arm Myself

**A/N**- Happy Easter, everyone!

* * *

It's not as hard as I would have expected to get my hands on a gun. Not that they exactly give them out, but for me it's easy. I've been working harder than ever since my Reform (well, other than those embarrassing absences) and I've progressed quickly. While I'm still hopeless with a bow and arrow, not to mention niche weapons like tridents or whips, my progress has been sufficient to gain me access to the shooting ranges. I don't imagine it'll be nearly as easy to sneak one out of the Training Center, but I have four or five months before I need to start worrying about that. For now, shooting is proving to be a good distraction.

There's only a gun in the arena about once every ten years, but if you know how to use one when it pops up, you're pretty much guaranteed to dominate. I think it's a worthwhile skill to pick up. Well, try picking up.

I'm not very good at it so far. I'm beginning to think ranged weapons may just not be my thing. While I can hit a target consistently with a spear, that seems to be the exception to the rule. With a bow and arrow, slingshot, or rifle, I'm more likely to somehow shoot myself in the ass. Seriously, if anyone could do it, I could. Even though I'm bad at it, I keep chipping away. It's actually kind of fun, and it helps that people are constantly bringing up the District Twelve bitch like they do at the archery section.

Yeah, I'm really done with a bow and arrow.

My shot clangs off the back wall of the room and thuds through the target from behind. Bracket, standing behind me and waiting for his turn, raises an eyebrow.

"Well, that's… technically a hit, I guess."

"Aw, shut up, retard," I scoff back. He gives me an obligatory slug in the arm and we wrestle for a moment.

He's better than me at unarmed combat, so I end up pinned. Doesn't matter. I'll give him an extra bruise in the sword ring next time.

Bracket gets a hold of the gun and cackles triumphantly. I roll my eyes and jam my hands into my pockets, pretending I couldn't care less. That's what's expected from Career friendships; a lot of bravado and pretending you don't give a shit what happens to each other. Part of that's just the rampant testosterone, but some of it also has to do with the fact that not caring about each other would come in pretty handy in the Hunger Games. Of course, it's impossible (barring some bizarre Quarter Quell) that Bracket and I will be reaped together, but it's all part of the conditioning.

Bracket takes aim and hits the target through one of the outer rings. He's better than I am, but not by much. I snort with laughter and he jams an elbow into my ribs.

"Shut up," he snarls, glaring at me. It only makes me laugh harder. Exactly as it was intended to.

Now that I've mostly gotten over Glimmer, Bracket's actually a pretty cool guy. I just don't mention his dead sister and he doesn't mention mine. It's nice to be able to have a normal time at Training again, instead of skulking around and arguing with myself for fear of someone picking up on my strange behavior. I've missed having friends. And being able to relax. And a lot of stuff I was too afraid to even touch over the last month and a half. My period of apostasy was a lot of unnecessary pain, seeing as it all meant nothing in the end.

The attendant finally works his way down to Bracket and me where we shoot at the far end of the range. It's not a big section of the Training Center, which is part of the problem. There aren't enough people studying marksmanship to justify hiring a full-time trainer, so they only hold classes once or twice a week. This means that those of us who _do _want to and are qualified to learn have to cram in here all at once, which is about as much of a party as it sounds.

"Let's see how you do, Lightning," the trainer, Mr. Lumens, says matter-of-factly.

We all know how I'm going to do. I take aim and Bracket delivers a slap to my back that almost makes me shoot straight into the ground. I glare at him and he grins. I aim again, glad I didn't actually shoot and embarrass myself in front of the trainer. I get a lucky shot and hit the target in one of the middle rings. I'm pretty pleased with the shot, but Mr. Lumens still has about fifteen minutes of instructions for me.

Which is another reason he gets through us so slowly. The man takes his own sweet time. Then puts it back, contemplates the merits of the lighting in the room, and picks it back up again.

"And if you can remember that, you should be fine. Keeping working on it, Lightning," Mr. Lumens instructs me. Bracket reaches for the gun but I yank it away.

"Like hell! You had it before Mr. Lumens got here. My turn, definitely," I insist.

It takes another few minutes of arguing, but Bracket eventually concedes. Apparently it's not worth his time to argue with an ignoramus like me. Not that he used the word ignoramus; that's way too many syllables for Bracket.

My sudden surge of skill has run out, and I struggle to apply the instructions I've been given. Unfortunately, it's harder than one would think. None of the individual adjustments are hard to make on their own, but trying to manage all of them at once is a frustrating task. As soon as I focus on one facet of my shooting, the rest of them go to Hell in a hand basket.

"Shit. Well, just go ahead and have a go. Clearly I won't be sucking any less today," I say with a sigh, shoving the gun to Bracket. He nods with insincere sympathy and takes aim.

"Hey, Lightning?" he asks, not taking his eyes away from the target on the far side of the shooting range.

"Wha'?" I ask absently, trying to analyze what the difference between his mediocre shots and my bad ones is.

"You still miss Glimmer?" he asks.

I can't help the confused, skeptical look that instantly covers my face. This is like teenage boys, or Careers. We don't ask each other about that maudlin, weepy stuff. Really, he's just treaded into very forbidden territory. Most of the guys would start ribbing him for that as soon as it punched its way through their piggy little brains. I'm willing to cut him a little more slack, but he honestly ought to change the subject now.

"Not really. Hey, how tightly are you holding it there?" I ask him, trying to move the conversation back into safe territory again. Unfortunately, Bracket doesn't take the hint.

"You sure? I mean, you were pretty shaken up for a while there. Like, when you started shouting on that stage. You looked crazy, you son of a bitch," he says, face screwed up in the unpleasant memory.

"Wasn't about Glimmer. I was just… a little crazy and a lot pissed off about Silk. You know," I said.

"Wait, what about Harkmer?" Bracket asks with a frown.

"She died. And I was pissed and crazy. Crazy pissed. Pissin' crazy. Got it?" I say, trying to be as clear as possible with him.

"I guess," he mutters, but he's clearly not persuaded by my insistence. "I still miss Glade, sometimes…"

I can't help but stare at him. This is so not a conversation I want to have with anybody, much less another guy. "Look, Bracket. I dunno what emotional shit you're trying to pull here, but don't. Our sisters were both idiots who deserved what they got. Get the hell over it and act like a man, before you're branded weak. You do realize you'll never get rid of that stigma, right?" I say, trying to be forceful and practical.

Who would have thought a week ago that I'd be the one lecturing other people on toughing up? Not me.

Bracket looks disappointed. "But, Lightning. You seemed so upset. I thought for sure you'd understand. I mean nothing in Reform could make you-"

I slam my fist into his jaw. It's not meant to hurt him, just to shock him into shutting up. It does the job nicely. I've found people don't adjust very well to combat when they're getting all sentimental over the halcyon old days, and Bracket is no exception. Instead of getting to his feet and trying to whip my ass like he normally would, he sitting plop on the floor and stares at me, a little stunned.

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about. I don't care, you hear me? You shouldn't either. Be a Career. I don't miss Glimmer. You shouldn't miss Glade. Just go into the Games and win. Nothing else matters."

My speech serves a triple purpose. First, because I mean it. Second, I don't want to hear him talking about Reform. It was Hell, but it worked and that's all that matters. Doesn't mean I like anyone rehashing the memories. Third, to show everyone who's listening that I'm as loyal as they expect me to be. If I ever want to have open access to the guns, I'm going to need them to know that I won't do anything wrong with them. Although I will, since murder of a Victor is a pretty crime, but it doesn't really matter. They don't need to know that.

"Fine. Fine, whatever," Bracket mumbles. He helps himself up off the ground and takes aim again, not looking at me. It takes a while, but we eventually move back into easy conversation.

The months pass in much this same way. I spend superficial time with the guys at the Training Center, building relationships that are more fun than they are meaningful. I continue to suck at ranged weapons, but have decided I should be able to score a hit on Everdeen's head from the edge of the stage. I spend a painful couple of hours a day with the young kids. Perfection, the really fat one, drops out, but the rest are getting whipped into shape.

San begins to attach himself to me, apparently drawn to the fact that I can claim a handful of functional brain cells, unlike most Careers.

Eventually, I'm given a pass to the weapons stockpile. It's almost too easy to steal one and slip away with it. But then again, what would I do with a gun? I'm the perfect Career boy. Sure, I'm violent, but I'm also perfectly loyal to the Capitol. I wouldn't do some like steal from the Training Center. I mean the Reform took care of all those sorts of problematic traits.

Even while they're grossly mistaken, they're not. They won't appreciate what I'm doing, but I don't see it as a contradiction to my Career lifestyle. In the contrary, I think letting Everdeen escape would go against everything I've been taught.

She has embarrassed my family. She's taken a huge personal price from me. I hate her. Hate is only good for destroying. So, since I hate Katniss, I destroy her. What other logical conclusion is there?

I slip through the door with the gun still hidden under my shirt. Queen is making out with her boyfriend on the couch again, and I grimace. Honestly, is there _nowhere _else they could do that? Like, at his house? Or in another dimension? I don't say anything though, because I don't want to attract attention to myself just at the moment, and they're wrapped up in each other enough that I'll probably slip by under their radar unless I insult one of them.

I close the door to our room behind me. No Illy or Riches, so I slip the weapon out from under my shirt and stow it quickly under my mattress. As long as Ma'am doesn't come in and start flipping beds again, I'm probably safe.

I sit down on the bed and rest my chin in my hands.

Less than two months until Everdeen and Mellark come to District 1 on their victory tour.

Less than two months until I can kill Everdeen.

Less than two months until I fulfill my final purpose.

Less than two months until my life ends.


	22. In Which I Watch Television

**A/N**- Sorry for the slower pace of both publication and the plot of yet. This chapter will probably seem very filler-y, but there is a reason for it.

* * *

I pull on the sleeves of my dress shirt. It still fits, thankfully. My job at the Center hasn't left me enough money for new clothes, what with me still having to pay off Camisole's nose job. I bet Sir and Ma'am would rather have me look ridiculous at the Victory Tour dinner than buy anything new.

"It's too small!" Fame bellows down the hall. The shirt he's trying on is mine from last year. I'm not surprised it doesn't fit. He's stockier than I am, but more built. It's probably stretched tight over the small of his back.

"Do your arms go through the holes?" Sir calls back.

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then it'll work."

Fame scowls, but the discussion is clearly over. I start undoing the buttons on my own shirt, glad to be taking it off. This shirt, glad as I am to have it, carries bad memories. Glim and Silk's funerals, mostly.

I shove the thought away. My sister and my best friend's memories are still painful for me, and it's not Careerlike to dwell on thoughts we know make us vulnerable.

Fame and I finish trying our dress clothes on in silence. Richie isn't here. I assume he's off training with Caviar, the victor who took him on. He practically lives at her mansion.

When I'm done getting back into my everyday clothes, I plop myself down on the couch. I should head to the Training Center to catch some afternoon classes, but since my siblings aren't done yet I'm probably safe for the moment. I turn on the TV, flicking through the inane Capitol sitcoms and talk shows, and eventually settle on some kind of cartoon. Childish, maybe, but almost comically violent. I've seen all the old Games enough time that I'm ready to pass up reruns for something new.

"Wha's'at?" Illy asks. I twist a little in the couch to get a better look at her. She looks nice, in an old sundress of Glimmer's. I wonder if it will occur to Everdeen that Illusion is dressed in the childhood clothes of a girl Everdeen murdered. I bet she probably won't pay enough attention to put that together.

"I dunno. Just whatever was on," I say with a shrug. "Wanna watch with me?" I ask her hopefully.

I can see those too-familiar nerves eating away at her in the tension of her fingers and how tightly she presses her lip together. It's only with hesitation that Illusion sits down next to me feet and nods.

This is a start, at least. If she doesn't mind sitting alone with me when our family is in the next room, maybe our relationship is healing from whatever damage was done to it. I smile at her and turn my attention back to the TV, where a babysitter is bashing her charge's brains out on the ground. I make a note to myself to never get on a babysitter's bad side.

The door to the kitchen slams open. Ma'am hurries out, a piece of toast wedged between her teeth. She shouts something muffled before pushing open the front door and charging out. Neither of us bother saying goodbye.

My mother has taken a job, which I find bizarre. After all these years of near poverty, she's entered the work force to pay for Richie's private lessons. I mean, I guess it's a good use of our money, but you'd think she could have done this earlier. Maybe she just didn't want to risk leaving us with psychotic babysitters.

"You ready for the Victory Tour?" I ask Illusion, grimacing. I do my best to sound casual. I don't need her or anyone else figuring out my plans for Everdeen when she comes around.

Illy shudders. "Nuh-uh. I wish I didn't have to go. I don't want to sit there and have to celebrate how wonderful she is. She killed Glimmer!"

This seems to be a safe subject, which makes me glad. At least Illy and I still hold one thing in common, even if it's only hate for Everdeen. "And embarrassed us. And embarrassed our whole District."

She shrugs but doesn't say anything, wrapping her arms around her waist like she's cold. Without conversation things become awkward again quickly, and we turn our attention back to the cartoon.

Queen bangs the door to the bathroom open. I take a glance over my shoulder at her and grind my teeth together. She's also dressed in an old dress of Glims. It's her reaping outfit from this year, which she shipped back to us from the Capitol. She told us to have it ready for her when she came home.

"How do I look?" Queen coos. She doesn't really need an answer; she knows she's beautiful. She's just fishing for compliments.

"Pretty," Illusion mumbles grumpily. I don't say anything.

"_Well_?" Queen prompts me. I sigh but try to ignore her. Queen, however, will not be denied. "I'm _waiting_, Lightbulb."

"Fine. You look great. Retail won't be able to keep his grubby hands off of you. You happy now?" I grumble. My sister sniffs disdainfully and minces back into the bathroom to change into her regular clothes.

"That dress looked better on Glimmer," Illusion mumbles to herself. I don't need to say anything for Illy to know I agree with her.

The cartoon babysitter beats the child with his own schoolbook, cackling wildly.

"So. You decided when you'll try to get in?" I ask Illusion briskly. She fidgets a little before replying.

"Into what?" she asks, chewing on her lip.

"You know what. The Hunger Games," I prompt. She shrugs.

"I… don't know. I wanted to wait until I was eighteen, so I'd have the most training and all, but Ma'am and Sir want me to try a couple years before that in case the competition is really tough that year. So, I guess sixteen?" she says. She doesn't sound very confident, which is silly. Illusion's not a great beauty like Glimmer or Queen, or the top of every fight like Silkiness, but she could do it. She's got good instincts. She'd practically sniff out Gamemaker traps before they were installed. The girl's got a sixth sense when it comes to when to stand her ground and when to haul ass. It's a rare gift for a Career. Our survival instincts tend heavily towards the "stand-our-ground side of the scale". It's kind of too bad, but it's a necessary sacrifice. Someone who can't stand his or her ground in a fight doesn't deserve to be a victor, anyway.

"Sixteen sounds good," I comment. "I know you can handle it. Whenever you go in, you'll win."

"That's what we all said to Glimmer," Illusion points out quietly. I shrug.

"So we were wrong. Big deal. The girls in this family can take care of themselves. There's no way we'll be wrong about all of you," I say.

"I guess. I just hope Queen makes it back," she sighs. I snort.

"Why? She's a bitch to you and me and Riches."

"But she's our sister," Illusion insists. I frown.

"Well, I guess…"

The babysitter on the television is laughing as the child crawls away from her, bawling as he searches for his mother.

"Should we be heading down to the Trainin' Center?" Illusion asks.

"I don't know. I think we have time, since both Ma'am and Sir are at work," I said. "Besides, I don't really want to go today. I'm just kind of tired."

"Oh. Okay," Illy mutters. "Well, I'm going to go. If anybody asks where I am, just… tell 'em for me, okay?" she says.

"Yeah, no problem," I say. Illusion drags her feet towards the hallway, presumably to get her training stuff. I focus back on the TV, pretty impressed with the creativity of the cartoon violence. How much long will they be able to keep that up? Doesn't look like it's slowing down any.

"I'm off," Illy calls feebly. She looks miserable, standing in the doorway with her bag thrown over her shoulder. I'm suddenly struck by how fragile my little sister seems to have become. She reminds me of a deer, slender and quiet and afraid of the world around it, dipping its head down only occasionally to add a little bit of good to its constant, flighty vigil.

I think that's a pretty good metaphor for someone who's only ever seen deer on television.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask her. My concern only seems to make her feel worse. I can see that mix or fear and hesitation swarming through the misery in her eyes. My little sister really thinks she's lost me, and I don't know what I can say to prove her wrong.

She slowly moves toward me, fiddling with the straps of her bag. She seems to make a decision and darts to the couch, wrapping her thin little eight-year-old's arms around my shoulders. Pleasantly surprised, I return her hug, hoping I may not need to say anything to convince her after all.

"Now, get outta here, kid," I say gently. She nods, quaking a little, before scuttling out the door. Despite her obvious fear, I think this is a good sign. My sister hasn't _wanted_ to go to training since Riches brought in that knife. I hope she may be on her way back to a healthy Career's life. And the closeness we used to share, as our relationship seems to be on the mend.

"She's weak," Queen says dismissively from the hall. She'd changed into some disgusting tight shirt that makes me a little embarrassed to be in the same room with her.

"And you're a slut. This poor family," I grumble, trying to focus back on the television.

To my surprise, Queen doesn't argue with me. She just laughs. "Maybe you're right. But unlike her, I'm going to win. Unlike Glimmer, I'm going to survive. And when I come back a victor, Lightbulb, I'm going to turn you out on the street."

"Die in a hole," I sigh, a little more irked than I care to let on.

"And not get my moment of glory? No, I'm not like that little girlfriend of yours," Queen says, words snaking their way out from between her lips.

I grind my teeth together, trying hard to stay I control. "Silkiness would have won. She was tougher than you will ever be. You're lucky she's not here right now or she would kick your ass."

"But she's not here," Queen chirps, looking very pleased with herself. "And she never will be. Now, I'm going out to have lunch with some friends. Enjoy your… show."

The door clicks shut behind her, and I refrain a string of fairly redundant insults. They're all true, and I mean every one of them, but there's really no point in saying them, even if Queen could hear me. I've said it all. "Go die in a hole" was probably the most succinct way I've expressed my brotherly love for Queen. Frankly, I'd almost be happy if she just went and killed herself.

The tide has turned, I realize as I try to force myself to watch the cartoon. The babysitter made the mistake of chasing the child into the kitchen, where he got his hands on what looks like a steak knife. Now he's chasing _her _around as she wails and curses. I imagine me as that kid and Queen as the babysitter, which is a satisfying train of thought.

"Whatcha watching?" comes a voice from behind me. I jump as tiny bit, having almost forgotten that Fame was even here. He's so quiet most of the time. It's probably for the best, though. He tends to embarrass himself when he tries to talk.

"I dunno. Some kind of kids' show. It was just whatever was on," I explain, waving the remote for emphasis. Fame watches the antics on the screen intently for a few seconds before declaring, "Looks stupid," and following the rest of my siblings out the door.

The parents in the show arrive home from wherever they were and look around their house, which is splattered with the remains of the butchered babysitter. The mother clucks her tongue and shakes her head. The babysitter has left the house a mess. Apparently, she won't be given a bonus this time.

"You know what? You're right," I say to no one, and click the television off.


	23. In Which My Family Attends Lunch

Illusion is gone. She never came back after she went to training last weekend. I've tried to get my parents and the authorities to launch a search for her, but the Peacekeepers can't be bothered to go looking for just any District girl who runs away from home, and my parents don't want her back. She was weakened by Glimmer's death. They don't think she'll make a good Career anymore. As such, she's of no further use to them, and they're glad to be rid of her. Queen hasn't even noticed. Fame hasn't helped me. Richie doesn't seem to care.

"Lightning, hurry up!" my mother bellows. I start. Illusion's disappearance has thrown me off. I'm… confused. I've been almost too distracted to worry about the Victory Tour. And now it's here.

"C- coming!" I call back, fumbling through my drawers for the gun. Now that the time has come, I realize I don't know where to put it. Do they do security checks at the Victory Tours? I don't know; I've never attended one our tributes didn't win. Eventually I shove it under my pants where my belt holds it tight. Hopefully, that will stop the gun from slipping.

I grab my jacket and sling it on haphazardly. I charge out and down the hall, sure the others are all waiting for me already. Turns out that that's not quite the case. Queen, Fame, and my parents are assembled, but I don't see Riches.

"Where's-" I begin, but Sir cuts me off.

"He'll meet us there. He didn't want to miss his private lessons today, so he went over early."

I nod hesitantly and follow my family out t he door. Despite the fact that there's still five us, I feel like out numbers are greatly diminished. Maybe five's not really a small family, but when you know three people so deeply, their absence feels a lot more significant than it might be.

Or maybe those three siblings who feel so missing really are as important as they make me feel they are. Maybe everyone is so important, and it's just our limited human selves that stop us from feeling every loss so deeply.

But I ignore that thought. No one could live feeling everything they ought to feel; they'd go insane.

There's no attitude of festival as we head toward the center of District 1. I remember only one of the two Victory Tours I've ever attended, and that had been a day of celebration. The winning boy had sat in a throne at the head of a huge table and feasted like the modern king he was while toasts were made to him. His speech at the end was nothing special, but there had still been an overwhelming feeling of joy. Even his District partner's parents had looked happy for him.

That may be my favorite thing about the Career subculture; it generates not only fierce, life-and-death competition, but a tight bond centered around common ideologies and goals. If Marvel Nictate had won, I would have been angry Glimmer hadn't, but it would have still carried that sense of pride.

However, with Everdeen and Mellark as our victors, today will hold only shame.

As we get closer and closer to the rather un-festive festivities I get progressively more nervous. Where am I supposed to hide this gun? Will I get an opportunity to shoot before I'm gunned down by the attending Peacekeepers? What if Mellark gets in the way of the shot (as I'm sure he would if given the opportunity) and I don't even manage to wound her? What if I'm stopped by a security check and never even see the stage before I'm arrested? I'm suddenly confronted with one simple fact: this is a very, _very _stupid plan.

Panic begins to vibrate up through my fingers. I feel the cultivated urge to fight off the threat rise, but of course this problem can't be solved by something as simple as a fist to the face. But… maybe it can. Not that I'm literally going to work my way out of this by punching someone, but maybe I'm over-thinking the solution to my rather under-thought plan.

The gun is the problem. So I need to get rid of the gun. There. Easy. Nothing to worry about.

"I… need to use the bathroom," I announce to my family, a little stiffly. Whatever acting ability I amassed during my weeks of hiding my deepening insanity has been erased by the Reform, my nervousness about this whole debacle, and Illusion's disappearance.

"Alright, fine. Just meet us at the banquet tables," Ma'am says, bored. She hardly gives me a backwards glance, which is both a relief and incredibly annoying. I decide to seize on relief, and hurry off as quickly as I can. I wait until my family is out of sight before I veer away from the public restrooms and towards the park. It becomes clear that the park is going to be packed, too, so I change course again, frustrated. The crowds are bigger than I would have expected for a District victory. I suppose the novelty of having two victors this year has drawn a crowd. I really, really wish it hadn't, because I'm almost afraid now that I won't be able to find somewhere to dump the gun.

I eventually find an empty alleyway, although I know I've already been gone way too long. I can't imagine that even my inattentive parents will fail to notice how long I'm taking. I shove it under a grubby old box and make a break for the District Square, sprinting.

By the time I get through security (who do in fact search me, making me glad I got rid of the gun) the ceremony has already started. Unfortunately, my family is seated onstage, so all of Panem is going to see me getting there late on live TV. Normally the thought would be embarrassing, but right now my mind is focused on bigger issues.

There she is. Right there. Katniss Everdeen stands twenty feet away fro me, looking awkward and insincere and ugly in her caked-on makeup. I can see her smiling stiffly. It's all a show, this whole sunny television performance, and not a very convincing one. At the same time, I can tell there's no guilt make the muscles in her cheek twitch. She's not sorry she murdered my sister, or Marvel Nictate. She just feels sorry for herself, having to speak in front of this crowd of people who hate her for murdering their children.

Poor dear, I'm sure.

I sit down stiffly, between Queen and Fame. Riches is there, looking bored out of his mind, and an empty chair stands to his left. I guess it was probably for Illusion. Figures. They didn't even bother to find out she went missing.

I feel a lot of eyes on me, curious as a cat with a mouse. I'm sure millions of other eyes are watching this live, but thankfully they leave me alone. The crowd in District 1 is more than enough to make my cheeks heat up. But the embarrassment I feel is nothing compared to the flop my stomach makes when Everdeen looks at me.

Her eyes are gray; I don't know if I ever realized that before. It suits her. Stony. Unexpressive. Hard. Gray is the perfect color for a girl who can murder and still consider herself a victim. And she does; you can see it. She purchased her life at the cost of so many others, and she has the nerve to feel sorry for herself. Suddenly I want the gun again, desperately. I want to blow those gray eyes in and splatter her brains all over the stage. I want her to die pained and disfigured, just like Glimmer did. I want to wipe that stiff ignorance off her face and show her exactly whose toes she's stepped on.

But I can't. I'd never get across the stage quickly enough to break her neck. The knives on the table are all dull, so it would be pointless to throw one. I'm weaponless and trapped on the wrong side of a long table.

Everdeen stares at me for a moment. I feel like we're on opposite sides of a window, just isolated enough from each other that she feels not quite real. I feel like she analyzing me, cautiously. I lift my lip in a snarl, almost without thinking about it, and she looks away. I wonder in the back of my mind what that's going to look like on TV: the brother of the deceased growling at the victor in the middle of the ceremony. I bet I'll be the laughingstock of some insignificant Capitol talk show. I honestly don't care.

"And now it is an honor to present our victors, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark," says our mayor, his voice dead. His words are perfectly polite, but its clear from his lead-like tone that he's anything but honored.

The crowd applauds, because… what else are they going to do? My family and the Nictates are more or less exempt from having to show respect to Everdeen and Mellark, though, which is a good thing. I think if someone tried to make me clap for her that would just be too much.

Everdeen and Mellark stand, giving a fake wave. Well, she looks decidedly fake. Mellark always seems more genuine, wrapping an arm around her waist now and whispering something in her ear.

I brace myself for the speech I know will make me sick with anger. I'm only stunned when it doesn't come.

Everdeen has only made one speech her entire tour, so I suppose that should have been a hint. I thought here, at least, she would give some trite apology sewn together from lies and banalities. Instead, she and Mellark sit down immediately once the forced applause has ceased.

It infuriates me that she won't even bother to say a few words about the people she murdered. Of course, had she tried to give a speech I would have been just as angry that she thought she could atone for the murder of two people by some insincere speech. Truth be told, nothing could have saved my opinion of Katniss Everdeen. It's too late.

Dinner starts almost immediately. The Capitol had been whipping the victors through very quickly, presumably because it was still embarrassing to have two of them. They begin piling courses in front of the attendees. Those watching from the folding chairs all get a perfectly edible meal, but only us on the stage are really pampered. I wonder if they'd brought in a Capitol chef to direct the cooking, because it has their usual flair.

I wish Glimmer were here to taste it.

The food is delicious, but it goes sour in my stomach. The hate for Everdeen and the painful longing to see my sister again threaten to make me sick all over the table. I shove the dish away and slump down in my seat. Fame gives me a sideways look, probably wondering why on earth I'm turning down a free meal, but nobody else even glances at me.

Well, that's not quite true. I catch Everdeen sneaking looks at me from the corner of her eye. I wonder vaguely what she's thinking, but in truth I don't care. I just want her gone. At the very least out of my sight and back into anonymity so I can of her as little as possible, but preferably dead.

The first is out of my hands. Out of _anyone's_, at this point. I've lost my chance to orchestrate the second.

I'm flooded with my failure. I'll never have another chance to avenge my sister, or to free myself from the strangling weight of hate for Everdeen. I'm going to be a prisoner to Glimmer's death for the rest of my life.

I was a fool to think I'd been crazy before. That was only the beginning.


	24. In Which I Choose an Ending

**A/N**- Long wait brough to you by finals and camping trips. Sorry.

* * *

Again, I find myself lost. What am I supposed to do now? I can't just pick up and move on, can I? Every time I reach for the idea my stomach just churns. I'm not strong enough, not even close. Have I always been this weak, or have I just taken one too many hits? I don't know whether it's better to believe I've always been pathetic and worthless and just never realized it, or to live knowing I used to be more than this and am always going to be less than I could be.

Or maybe it doesn't even matter. How would I know? Things never work out very well when I try to take sides.

I collected the gun from the alley afterwards. I shoved it under my mattress as soon as I could. I haven't left my room since.

It's Sunday, so I'm not in any hurry to get to the Training Center. I don't have school to worry about. Of course, there's the matter of all my unfinished homework, but the idea of focusing on anything right now is abhorrent. I just want to lie here and hate myself. So I do.

I roll over on my cot, feeling the gun jab my hip a little through the thin pallet. I'll have to get it back to the Training Center soon. They've been doing a pretty good job of hiding it, but I'm sure they're in a bit of a panic right now. After all, Careers are both dangerous and hormonal. Not the sort you want running around with a weapon. They might do something dangerous with it. They might hurt someone.

I toy with the idea of going on the rampage of which they're probably all afraid. What better punishment could I exact? They kill my sister, brainwash my best friend into not being afraid when her parents hit her to death, seduced my youngest brother into leaving us and becoming a violent little bastard, and scared Illusion right out of our family. And of course, they're more or less the reason I'm here now. They deserve to get a bullet in the brain, every one of them. I don't think anyone could tell me I was wrong if I did it. I'd be doing the world a favor.

Maybe that's the best choice. Maybe I should go to training today, looking perfectly normal, and open fire at everyone there. I bet I could take out four or five instructors before anyone stopped me. Maybe I could even blow away one or two of the kids who mocked Glimmer for dying, and me for mourning her. Then myself.

The idea seems very catching. I wouldn't mind seeing a few of those smug smiles doused in fear. I wouldn't mind seeing a few blond heads blown to pulp. Of course, if I ever did anything like that, I wouldn't get a chance to go back to Reform or anything quite so survivable. I'll be executed and, knowing the Capitol officials, it won't be quick or pleasant. No, if I want to do this, I'll have to make sure to have one bullet left for me.

I stroke the sharp line of the gun through the thin mattress of my cot. It's strange how the anger and self-loathing and grief has suddenly quieted to let me hear the whispers of this new plan. I feel sort of empty. Sort of glazed. There's no more Lightning now, just this strange creature that wears his face and dreams of violence.

Which returns Lightning to his body with a sudden smack. Just a violent animal of a person who lives for violence. Isn't that exactly what a Career is?

I sit up, frowning, searching for some difference between my dreamed-up rampage and the slaughter of a Career. The longer it takes me to find one, the sicker to my stomach I begin to feel.

I guess people are pretty narcissistic beings. We don't like to think anything bad about ourselves. We always want to feel justified. When I was a real Career I never considered that I might be wrong. When I was living off of my own and Glimmer's memory, I never questioned that I was right to hate, now that I _felt_ real hate. Who would have?

Maybe I was looking to lay the blame in the wrong place. Maybe I always have been. Maybe it's not the Careers that are mindlessly evil and cruel and self-destructive. Maybe all of us are, and they're just a little more comfortable with showing it off.

I guess it makes sense. It's not like we just spring into the world swearing and punching. We aren't born evil, we become. Our world makes us what we are. We're all raised in this life, where you've got to scratch your way to the top, trampling everybody else in the way. Maybe those of us who try to do anything different are just in denial, acting. And all acts come crashing down, as I learned from bitter personal experience.

A different sense of despair fills me. It's colder than the one that began haunting me when Glimmer died. It's like standing on a flat, dark plane, knowing that there is only blackness and emptiness forever, in all directions, and you're going to be alone in it forever. It stems from this new realization: that I've been poisoned by this awful world. Glimmer was poisoned by it. The Careers have gorged themselves on it. Everyone's drowning in it.

I can't change the world. Killing someone - Everdeen, myself, other people at the center - that's easy. One bullet, and… you're done. But to change the way the world works is something altogether beyond me. This is a new kind of defeat, to know that I can't have my sister back, can't get revenge for her, and can't do anything in the slightest to stop what happened to her from happening again. I'm useless in this fight. _Anyone_'s useless in this fight.

We should just start over. Scrap humanity and try another draft, because this one's fucked up beyond saving. We should all shoot ourselves in the head and let some other species have a go. Maybe they won't mess things up as badly as we have. But, unfortunately, I have the feeling I'll have a hard time convincing the human race to destroy itself. We're far too selfish for that. Even though we're flawed and violent and miserable, humanity as a whole will fight to the bitter end to keep whatever pathetic existence we have to our names. We're stupid, too, I guess. Really, I can't imagine death is any worse than the everyone-against-everyone hell we fight through.

Why do we even bother? Is there really a reason? Maybe that's just what it's been ingrained into our heads to do: keep fighting. It makes sense. I can't for the life of me imagine I'd have kept going for so long after Everdeen killed Glimmer if death had seemed to be an even remotely viable option. But death is just… death. Either eternal emptiness or punishment or a cosmic reset button or a hundred other conflicting theories. None sound any worse than this life, but then again it's hard to know which story to believe in the first place.

Maybe that's the clincher, the one factor that makes us so desperate to live. We don't know what's going to happen, and that blind fear is stronger than the all-too-familiar pain of living. It's the unknown we can't subject ourselves to, rather than the workaday torture of the world. I find it almost stupid; if you know you hate the way things are going, why not toss your dice again? It's not like you've got anything to lose, after all.

But then again, I'm just as bad as everyone else, aren't I? For all my suffering and my big talk, I'm still here. If anyone has reason to discard and draw their life, it would be me. After all, what do I have to lose? A future that isn't worth sneezing at. Either feeding myself to the beast of the Games or just barely scraping by doing some awful menial task in some gem refinery or art factory. Really, there's not much reason for me to stubbornly insist on living. I don't think I'd miss this world and no one would miss me. The siblings I loved are either dead or stolen from me some other way, and my parents…

Suddenly, the possibility flickers to life in my mind. Why bother with a raid on the Training Center? They can keep damning themselves, for all I care. They can keep wasting their time, fighting against the inevitable pull of death and fooling themselves into thinking they're accomplishing something. What if I launch an attack and they stop me? I wouldn't want to become an Avox, one of those mutilated servants some of the Victors have imported. I wouldn't want to be tortured to death, because… ow. No, I want it to end surely and quickly, and the best way to do that is to handle it myself.

I should just kill myself.

The strange, uncomplicated brilliance of my revelation runs through my chest, down my arms and legs to warm up every part of my body. The idea is strangely alluring, like a glass of water after walking two days through the desert. It would all be over, then. I could be through with this whole debacle with just the pull of a trigger. I bet I wouldn't even feel it, it would be so quick. Then I could either be done with everything for good or get to try some other type of existence, either of which is sounding a little too alluring.

Another hook dances in my brain: the sense of control. Imagine the thrill of thwarting the universe's plan for me. It would be so easy to thumb my nose at the painful death at the hands of the games or long years of miserable slum living. I could snub my eventual death and take everything into my own hands. After so long being tossed around like a child's ball, with no control over my own life, the idea seems sweet and tempting.

There's nothing to stop me. I've got a gun. All I need to do is put it up against the roof of my mouth and pull that little trigger. My family will be drawn by the bang, but I'll be dead before they even get the door open, barring some freak happenstance. Maybe they'll pretend to mourn, but even if they do it won't make any difference. I'll have gone beyond this world, and probably be happy to be so.

Slowly I sit up, shifting my weight to the foot of my cot so that I can pull the mattress up and slip the gun out. It doesn't glint, as the metal is worn and cloudy and only a very small amount of evening light filters in through my window. For some reason that annoys me. It seems like this beautiful little savior of a weapon should shine or glistens or do _something _pretty. It deserves to be pretty.

I slip the gun inside my mouth. It's a strange feeling, maneuvering this metal object through my teeth, trying to stop it from touching my tongue. I may want to kill myself, but I don't have any desire to take a lap of dirty-old-gun taste. Is that strange? Probably, but I lost any grip on what constituted "strange" a long time ago. Or a not-so-long time ago, depending on your point of view.

But I digress, and I need to get this over with.

I press the metal barrel against the clammy roof of my mouth, squirming a little bit. The gun is cold. Who would have thought killing yourself would have such minor setbacks?

Glimmer, I'm sorry I didn't stop you. I thought you were invincible. I though I was, too. Guess I'm wrong.

Silkiness, I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I tried. I wanted you to stop, to get away from your life. Guess I didn't try hard enough.

Illusion, I'm sorry I left you. Not just now, killing myself, but before. After Glimmer died. Guess I'm leaving for good.

Riches, I'm sorry I didn't protect you. I only though about myself after Glimmer's death. Maybe if I hadn't, I'd have noticed you changing and stopped it. Guess I'll never know.

Everyone else: fuck you.

My finger tenses and I pull the trigger.

Except…I don't.

Why am I not pulling the trigger?

I open my eyes and blink in confusion. Why aren't I dead? I _want _to be dead, and there's a gun in my hands. Therefore, I shouldn't be thinking at this point. But I am, clearly. Frustrating.

I close my eyes again and try to pull the trigger, but I can't make my finger move. I set the gun down and wiggle my trigger finger. No, it hasn't suddenly stopped working. I can flex it just fine. I pick my weapon back up and place the barrel on my temple. And again I can't make my hand move.

I collapse onto my bed, all sense of control and relief gone. I can't do it. After all this time suffering, after all these years being trained to kill, I can't pull this trigger. Typical. Just typical.

I lie there listlessly for a moment. Well. I guess it's time to… come up with another plan, then. The idea of it is crushingly exhausting. I have no idea where to begin. I've pursued every option, just to get slapped back. There are no choices left to me now. I guess my only choice is to just…ride it out.

Maybe I'll just lay here on my bed forever. That sounds nice.

I'm suddenly bone tired and want nothing more than to go to sleep, but a soft thudding coming down the hall catches my attention and I stuff the gun under the mattress. The door creaks open a second later and Fame pokes his head in.

"Hey, Lightning? We're supposed to, um…go to training. Now?"

I almost sigh in spite of myself. Where Queen is obnoxious and cruel, my younger brother's biggest sin is being too big an idiot to hold a conversation with. Even now, relating this simple fact, he looks a little confused.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I'll need to get rid of that gun. I'm sure it's been missed by now and it's too big a risk to take it back.

"I'm coming," I mutter to Fame.

Of course I'm coming.


	25. In Which The President Announces

**A/N**- This is the second-to-last chapter.

* * *

"Hurry _up_, Lightning!" Queen screeches, clawing at the door. "I have to take a shower before Retail picks me up, and I've only got twenty minutes until the Quell announcement!"

I roll my eyes. Every other sentence out of her mouth for the last month has been about 'her' Hunger Games. Her beloved Quarter Quell. I'd hoped finally being elected as the female District 1 Career for the next Games would satisfy her and shut her up, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. As far as Queen is concerned, this is only further proof that she _is _the single most perfect person ever to grace the face of the earth.

"I'm going, I'm going," I call. I finish toweling myself off and throw my clothes on quickly. The second I pull the door open Queen rushes in, shoving past me so I end up falling flat on my face, which is probably exactly what she meant to do. I have to scramble out of the way so the door doesn't slam closed on my leg.

"Bitch!" I snap.

"Yeah, whatever," is the only reply she deigns to give me.

I peel myself off the stained carpet and slink into the living room. The Quarter Quell announcement is required viewing everywhere, but in District 1 you wouldn't know it. People are throwing parties and marathons of old Games. It's such a celebration here that it's hard to imagine the way things must be in the lower Districts. People probably sit with their families for the mandated five minutes, grim-faced and quiet. I'd probably fit in better with them, to be honest.

I sit down on the floor next to the couch. Even though my parents, Fame, and a few assorted friends and family are here and talking happily, the room feels oddly quiet to me. I guess I'm missing the familiar voices that should have been here. Glimmer would have taken Queen down a peg or two, if she'd had victor status to back her up. Illy would have been chatting happily to me, instead of ignoring me the way everyone else seems inclined to do. Riches… well, he wouldn't do much anymore. Maybe it's better that he's staying with his mentor. Silk would have sat in the corner and grimaced with me.

But I try not to think about that. Not that it helps.

Eventually Queen emerges from the bathroom, washed and dressed in her finest, and everyone lets loose a cheer. She beams and bows, reveling in the attention. Why shouldn't she, I ask myself glumly. This is her day, after all. The third biggest day of her life, the first and second being her victory and reaping. This is the beginning of the month she's built her entire life around. Until Glimmer's death, I would have cared just as much as she does.

Queen takes the seat of honor, right in the middle of the coach. She just sits and beams at the attention being showered down on her. It's almost hard to believe this is the same girl who would have ripped my head off for her turn in the shower fifteen minutes ago.

"Ooh, final poll! Who thinks they know what the Quell change is going to be?" Squeals my aunt Lipo.

People explode again. I don't have any guesses, not that anybody would want to listen to them if I did. Really, I don't think they're even paying all that much attention to each other. There must be about eight of them talking all at once. Somehow, Aunt Lipo manages to get a general survey and the leader is that they'll cut outside help from mentors or sponsors, or maybe both. Personally, I think it sounds a little dull for the Capitol. They'll come up with something better than that. The Capitol has an overdeveloped sense of theatricality. I mean, look at any one of them and you'll get a sense of what I mean.

Everyone gathers around the TV. Queen and our older family members sit on the couch, while others go to grab chairs from the kitchens. Even after that, a lot of us are sitting on the floor. As the minutes tick down (there's a live countdown running on the channel my parents chose) the excited roar begins to quiet down. The tension is obvious in the slight tremble of clenched hands and eyebrows that hitch together into the middle of foreheads. Last year it was Glimmer who was glistening with pride and excitement. I wonder if anyone else is thinking about the fact that Glimmer is dead now. It seems to be mostly forgotten, but I can't say I'm surprised.

The clock reads one minute, and everyone around me is silent. They breathe in tune with the ticking off the seconds. In, sixty. Out, fifty-nine. In, fifty-eight.

It makes me feel lonely. I miss being so tuned in to something. I miss having a connection that goes beyond my mind or my heart and feels like it ties right into my bones and my blood. I miss the feeling of being…transcended, almost. Of feeling like something matters more to me than _me. _I feel lonely, having lost that.

In, ten. Out, nine.

Some sort of fancy digitally animated logo has popped up to fill the scene, ticking away the few seconds until the ceremony is aired. I lean forward a little, interested in spite of myself. Even if I'm not a good Career, these Hunger Games are going to be especially important. They're going to decide the fate of my older sister. And suddenly I'm not so sure what I want that fate to be.

If you'd asked me five minutes ago, I would have said without a second's deliberation that I wouldn't care if Queen died in the arena. Sure, I wouldn't mind if she won, either. I'd like a huge house and a filthy rich family as much as the next guy, but if she died I'd barely even be disappointed. Now, I don't feel that confidence.

I sneak a look at Queen out of the corner of my eye. She's totally focused on the screen, an almost hungry grin stretching across her face. I've never seen her like this. She's always been rude and distant, but now she looks unguarded. She reminds me of a small child anticipating their very first piece of candy after having walked past a window display of beautiful sweets for years.

I've been brainwashed. I put that together a while ago, and tried to save myself. The other kids at the Training Center had been twisted into the exact same knots, as I realized later. I tried to help them, too. It didn't work, of course, but the thing is that I tried. I was willing to blow my life trying to save people I hardly knew, and yet I've never said a word to help my own sister.

I almost never realized that Queen has been in the same boat as me. Actually, as she's two and a half years older, it might be more accurate to say I've been sitting in _her _boat. But whosever boat it is, Queen is just the same sort of person I was before the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Maybe because I'd grown up having Glimmer grind "Queen is an evil bitch" into my head every day, or because she'd been this way so long I couldn't imagine her any differently, it had never occurred to me that Queen needed saving, too.

I snap my eyes back towards the screen. I've already missed the beginning of the broadcast. It's nothing important, just crowd shots and a slow zoom in to where President Snow stands ready to deliver his speech, but I don't want to be caught staring at Queen, anyway. It's much easier for me if I just avoid all interaction with her.

"Panem, we gather here tonight for a momentous occasion in the history of our country and of the world."

We're not really all gathered anywhere in particular but I doubt anyone would point this out to Snow. At least, unless they had a burning and immediate desire to distance their head from their neck.

_Do I need to try to help Queen?_ The question tickles the edges of my brain annoyingly. At first I react with a sort of mental twitch. Of course I don't! She's tormented me my whole life. She's never done anything for me; I don't owe her my own safety, which would certainly be put in jeopardy if I started voicing anti-Games sentiments again. But then I think about how it isn't her fault she's that way any more than it was mine. I think about how I wish someone would have helped me before I had to have my viewpoint torn apart in the most painful way possible. And I reluctantly begin to think it's my duty to help her. And, I suppose, Fame and Riches, too. I think with a twinge I'd help Illy if I knew where she was, but I focus on the speech to distract myself from that painful train of thought.

"The proud history of Quarter Quells serves as a special reminder of the importance of submission, duty, and prudence. When the foolish rebels attempted to escape the rule of the Capitol, they threw all of these away in favor of false, pale hopes. They suffered, as all who make the same mistakes are doomed to suffer."

I try to focus on the speech. I really do. No matter how much I strain, my mind keeps jumping. I still get the basic idea of the speech; it's like every other speech given about the Hunger Games. It reminds us of the rebel's stupidity and the Capitol's greatness, and how the Games teach us obedience, and so forth and so forth for the next ten minutes.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell."

Snow's unnaturally smooth, pale hand opens the envelope marked with a dark, clear seventy-five. He unfolds the paper inside of it slowly, giving the cameras plenty of time to get in sweeping close ups of the creamy paper.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors."

A few relatives break out into applause before they fully comprehend what's been said, but the cheering dies out almost immediately. It's replaced by a confused silence as a roomful of thick Career minds tries to puzzle things out.

I sort through my thoughts quicker than most of our assemble friends and family.

Reaped from existing victors.

That's not allowed.

But it's happening.

So the female tribute from our District will be an old victor.

So the female tribute will not be Queen.

My eyes widen when this bizarre twist of events is fully realized. My stomach flops with a range of emotions, primarily shock about the breaking of another fundamental rule of the Hunger Games and reserved relief that my sister certainly won't be dying in the Games anymore.

Queen's face is blank and faintly puzzled for a moment, and then her eyes widen. Her mouth drops open as our assembled visitors explode in angry shouts and insistence that this is some sick prank. But I don't think anyone honestly believes that. Snow doesn't joke around.

Queen leaps to her feet and barrels out of the living room, staggering into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. Fame and I both start toward the door, but stop as soon as we notice each other and stare for just a moment before continuing. We kneel by the bathroom door, Fame trying to comfort her and coax her out, me just sitting there and trying to force myself to say something to my despised sister. I don't manage it.

People disperse eventually, leaving our house still howling in fury. Not one of them bothers to stop and check on Queen.

Eventually Queen's sobs quiet down, but she doesn't unlock the bathroom door.

Fame and I leave her for dinner, which is very quiet. Well, between the two of us. Ma'am and Sir spend the whole night complaining about how now all the years of training and raising her are wasted.

We got about our own pointless activities for about another hour, and finally decide we need to get Queen out of the bathroom, whether she wants to or not.

I try picking the lock at first, but have only taken a few lessons at the Training Center and can't quite get it. Finally, Sir just kicks the door open.

We pull Queen out, but she's dead. Cut her own wrists with Sir's shaving razor. Couldn't handle having the Games taken away from her, I guess.

Oh, well.


	26. In Which I Hear An Unexpected Speech

**A/N**- A big thanks to everyone who has read this, and especially to those who have reviewed. Also, this story would not be possible without LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, who was there to catch my grammar and spelling booboos at the beginning, and Laeve, who took on the beta-reading yoke when Mel was no longer able.

* * *

I'm in my dress clothes again, at a funeral again; but this time I don't feel angry. I don't even really feel sad. I just feel neutral. Dull. Sort of empty. I don't know whether this is better or worse than how I felt after Silk and Glimmer's funerals. Probably better. No amount of misery will bring any of them back, of course, so I might as well not have an awful time. Right? I don't know.

I shift my feet uncomfortably. I can hardly get myself to focus for a few minutes, and I feel guilty. This is my sister's funeral. Even if she _was _awful and hated me with fiery passion, I should be more respectful. But I can't help it. My head just feels so fuzzy, like a layer of gunk is wrapped around my brain. It complements my weird sort of serenity. It's kind of nice, to really not care for the first time in a long time.

Of course, that's not an entirely accurate statement. I've run the gamut of emotions since Glimmer died. I've been numb before. I'll be numb again.

I take a quick look at Fame. I can't help but think it'll only be awhile before something awful happens to him, too. I can't imagine getting to keep any of my siblings unscathed at this point. His eyes are clouded over and red-rimmed. He took Queen's death harder than any of us, unsurprisingly. I wonder if he's having the same sort of thoughts I did when Glimmer was killed. Probably not. The Hunger Games didn't kill Queen; the lack of them did. Plus, he's pretty thick in the first place.

My eyes slide to Riches. He looks even more bored than I am, fidgeting and pouting every couple of seconds. I wonder if he cares at all that his sister is dead. Clearly, he'd rather be off training than attending her funeral. I haven't seen him outside of school since he moved out, but he didn't even seem upset when Illusion disappeared, so maybe he really no longer cares.

I hardly bother looking at my parents. Ma'am is putting on her air of false mourning, but Sir is outright livid. He's furious that a whole 'nother eighteen years of raising a child for the Hunger Games has gone to waste. Really, it's almost funny what bad luck he's had in that department. All three of his daughters were snatched away, with one son likely too damaged now to stand a chance in competition. What are the odds?

My eyes drift over to Retail, Queen's sleazy boyfriend. He's actually crying, which surprises me. I thought it was just some stupid physical thing between him and Queen. Maybe I was wrong. He does seem to miss her.

A couple people make speeches. None of them are very eloquent or hold my attention. When they finish sticking her into the ground, people immediately begin mingling. It's more subdued than usual, I have to admit, but her funeral still seems to be regarded as more a social event than anything else. I don't bother sticking around to gossip. I turn on my heel away from our congregated friends and family and march away from the gravesite. No one follows me. Maybe they don't care. Maybe they think I need to be alone. Maybe they didn't notice. I'm guessing all three.

Either way, I'm glad that they're leaving me be. I _do _want to be alone. I need to think. I don't know what about, but the feeling that there's just something just on the edge of my knowing is becoming very annoying. I wonder if the blankness brought on by Queen's sudden death is stopping me from realizing…whatever it is.

The cemetery Queen's been assigned is a pretty nice place. I mean, not really _nice_, but not covered in graffiti and garbage. It almost looks like a park, with a river running down the middle of it, with steep grassy banks that will probably keep me out of sight for the rest of the funeral. I go down about halfway to the river and sit down, wrapping my arms around my knees. I'm far enough away from the noise the rest of the funeral guests are making that I can hear the rush of the river and the squeaking of some sort of bird. It's nice here. Much more peaceful than it is at home. Prettier. I wonder if that even matters to Queen anymore.

One of the common afterlife theories is that you'll be rewarded or punished depending on what sort of person you were. If that's true, will the scenery matter to her much either way? And where would she be right now? Was she a good person or a bad one?

It's my first, knee-jerk reaction to say that Queen was innocent of who she was. She was raised to be violent and nasty and competitive. She had every reason to be the way she was, didn't really have _any_ reason to be anything else. So how can she be culpable?

But the harder I think, the less sure I feel. Queen was certainly raised to be cruel and violent and hateful...but so was I.

I plop my chin down against my knees and frown. Queen was a prime...I hesitate to insult her now that she's dead, but 'bitch' is really the only way I can think to put it. Queen was no saint either. I had my moments too, I know. But Queen was different than even me or Glims. When I was around Glimmer, even when we fought, I could sense something steadier and more dependable than anger in her core. Maybe Glimmer was nasty and violent some of the time, but she was never completely beyond love. When I shouted at Queen, I didn't see anything. There were no underlying depths, no hesitation in her hate.

I'm not quite like Queen, either. I wasn't beyond being touched by tragedy. When Glimmer and Silk died, I killed myself for not being able to save them. Queen didn't blink or, when she deigned to respond at all, just insulted them. When our ten-year-old sister disappeared into gang-littered, crime-stricken, violent District 1 I woke up gasping from nightmares about the horrible things that could have happened to her. Queen was only glad to have more space in our shared room. While our little brother suddenly stopped being a sweet, enthusiastic kid and turned into a fifth-year soldier, I watched from the corner of my eye and wished there was something I could do. She was off gossiping with her friends and making out with her boyfriend.

She's different from Fame. He may be an idiot and he may be a Career, but he's never had her vicious streak. He's been raised to be hateful and violent for fourteen years, and isn't half as cruel as she has in her seventeen.

She never had Illusion's sweet nature. My younger sister could be violent. I remember the way she almost threw herself at the screen in the desperate excitement that Glimmer's awful death gave her. But there was always some measure of her in it, even in the throes of bloodlust. Even when cruel or violent, Illusion held on to some small part of herself. Queen was never like that. When she was at her most angry. She wasn't Queen; she was violence.

Queen never had Richie's joy. He could have been any kid in the Districts, excited to learn, if not for the fact that he was learning how to be a teenage assassin. He had a love of life that she could never match. Maybe Queen loved the Games just as much or more than he did, but it was always a dark, doomed sort of love. Riches has taken it too far now, but he still has that love of the life he's working towards.

She never had Silk's pure devotion. No, what my sister had was fanaticism. Obsession. If Silk had lived and not qualified for the Games, she would have been furious. She would have been more frustrated and angry than she'd ever been. But she would have figured out some way to keep living and keep pursuing it or something else.

Queen didn't have any of the good qualities the rest of us did. Why not? We were raised just the same as she was. Five of us even had the same parents. What was the difference between Queen and the rest of us?

I'm interrupted by footsteps coming down the hill, slipping a little on the wet grass. I look up and see Fame wandering down the hill toward me. He sits down and sighs. He looks tired. His eyes are red-rimmed and dark-circled, and he rubs his temples like he has a headache.

"Hey," he says glumly.

"Hey," I reply carefully. I don't know what he wants, but I'm going to try to be nice to Fame. He loved Queen probably just as much as I loved Glimmer, even if she might not really have returned the favor, and I know this has to be hard for him.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, and we just sit in silence. After a while I start to feel uncomfortable. I never hated Fame, but we've certainly never been friends. He was always with Queen, and that was enough to put me off. Now it feels odd to just sit here with him. Glimmer and I could have wasted hours just sitting and talking, or even just doing our homework together. "So…" I begin, trying to break the silence. "You…y'know…doing okay? And things?"

"No. But, y'know. I'll live. Unlike her," he mutters, picking a strand of grass and ripping it into four pieces before moving on to the next.

"Oh. That's…that's good, I guess," I offer.

"I guess," he agrees, and there's another short pause. "But I'm not doing as well as you did, really."

I give him a slightly disbelieving look out of the corner of my eye. "What? You think _I _did well? You're…you're really off, man."

He shakes his head. "No, really. You had a shitty time of it, I know, but you're okay now."

"No, I'm really not," I insist.

"Yeah, you are."

I look at him for a moment, trying to understand what he's trying to say. "Okay. Well…wouldn't _I _be the expert on that, not you?

He hesitates a moment, thoughtfully. "No. I really don't think you are."

"Huh. Well, enlighten me, in that case."

He picks up a rock next to him on the grass and tosses it into the stream. He watches it sink for a moment, apparently collecting his thoughts.

"I dunno. It's hard to explain. Bear with me for a while, okay?" he says, eyes glazed.

"Okay," I agree.

"Well, back before, back when Glimmer was alive, you were kind of a jerk. Real bastard a lot of the time, actually."

"Excuse me? _I _was a bastard? Who-"

He holds up a hand to shut me up. "Bear with me, remember?"

I grumble a bit to myself but stop my iterruptions and wait for him to continue. He looks at me for a moment to make sure I won't burst out again and dives back into whatever story it is he's telling.

"Anyway. You weren't a great guy, most of the time. Now, I'm not saying I was, but I'm really not important to this. This is about you, and you were a jerk.

"But that changed when Glimmer died. I mean, it changed fast. You just...ground to a halt. I guess someone who didn't know you as well or didn't think to look might not have noticed it, but I did. All of a sudden you...stopped. It was like you were second-guessing every single thought that went across your head. I mean, you still did everything you did before, but you were sort of hesitatient."

I frown, pulling at my socks uncomfortably. It's weird to have anyone monologue about me this way, much less Fame, who I've always dismissed for a half-wit. I didn't think he had any powers of observation in his thick skull, but everything he's been saying has been spot-on. It's weird enough that I don't even jump in to inform him that he means "hesitant".

"I figured that it had something to do with Glimmer dying. I mentioned it to Queen, and she said you were just going through some weirdo-depressed phase and I should just stay out of it. But I wasn't so sure. When something's a phase you can- well, you just feel it. You feel it some surface ...thing, and you find it annoying or ignore it or whatever, but you don't expect it to last. And this wasn't some surface thing. This was like a reverse-surface thing; your phase was acting the same as you always had.

"I figured out pretty early on that you were, y'know, _doubting things_. After that I sort of dismissed it, because I figured you wouldn't really drop out of being a Career. What else are you gonna do, you know? But you didn't 'get over it', and it made me realize some things."

He doesn't say anything, and I realize he thinks he's done. But he's not, or rather, I'm not ready for him to be done.

"What things?" I prompt him.

He frowns again, like he's starting to get a headache. Even if Fame's not the idiot I thought he was, he's no genius, and I don't know that he's ever had to just lay his thoughts bare like this before. I don't know that, if he tried, anybody would have wanted to listen.

"Okay. Yeah. Well...I figured out that you were different. It was weird to notice that because I'd always thought you were just the same as me or Queen or whoever, but you weren't."

"Yes, I was," I break in. "Before Glimmer died I was-"

"No. No, you weren't. It was really _buried_, but that...whatever you have was still there. It just needed something to bring it out.

"That something didn't even need to be something like our sister dying. Sooner or later, even without help, you'd realize the stuff you know now."

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, surprised. At first the idea that Fame knows the Reform training didn't stick is terrifying. Even if it didn't work last time, it was still awful and they could do it again. But then he goes on and puts my fears to rest.

"Because you're special. You're ...real, almost. You're _you_, no matter what sort of layers people might force onto you, and that 'you' they're hiding is always going to come back. I'm not like that. Glimmer and Queen weren't like that. We're fake people. We may smile and move and laugh, but we're what we've been made into, not ourselves.

"You got some sort of power that I don't, Lightning. You can pull out of the smog and see clearly and go, 'No, that's not what I want.' I can't do that. I never will. But I envy you.

"I'm not going to change. I can't. I just _can't_. I'm going to leave and hide my head in the sand and pretend we never had this conversation. I'll pretend I don't know my whole life is a pile of shit. But you're going to leave this place with a choice. And I envy you for it.

"See what I mean?"

I think before I respond. _Do I _see what he means? I guess so. I guess I do.

What's the difference between Queen and me? The answer is: Queen and me. For whatever reason, she was taken in and I wasn't. The blame can't be foisted entirely onto our parents. For whatever reason, something about Queen as a person made her give in. Is it fair? No. Is it entirely her fault? No. But I can't pretend that Queen didn't have a hand in her own fate.

I've had a hard time of it. That's not self-pity, it's fact. I've seen my family and best friend murdered. I've been tortured. I've been abused. But I can't blame the world I live in for all the evil in it. The Hunger Games didn't just happen like a rainstorm or an earthquake. _We _mad it happen. Evil's in the Games, but it's in us, too.

At then end of things, when we lie in a bed or on the ground or wherever, vision going black, we have to accept our part in guiding our own steps, and we won't be able to change the path we took. All we can do is try, as hard as we absolutely fucking can, to take the right path when the choice is still ours. Maybe if everyone did that, the world would start to fix itself.

The world messes us up, and we mess up the world. It's a nasty cycle, and we can't sit back and let it happen.

Do I get what Fame means? Yeah, I think I do. I'm lucky to know this. I'm lucky to understand exactly what's holding me back. And I'm lucky not to be the sort to love my chains.

"Yeah. I do," I tell him.

"Good," he replies simply. We don't say anything more, just sit in silence, watching the river flow, thinking our own thoughts. Eventually our parents show up and take us home. I stand, wiping loose bits of grass and dirt from my pants. Sure enough, the familiar blankness has slammed back down over Fame's eyes. It's a little eerie, seeing how easily he turns off the sort of thoughts he poured out to me today. But somehow I don't know if he's right that this is all he can do, that this is all he can ever be. The fact that he realizes his limits makes me question if they exist. I suppose I just need time to figure it out. And for once, time is something I've got a feeling I have.


End file.
